


DOCTOR, DOCTOR

by sylva



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Rivals to Lovers), Alternate Universe - Hospital, Doctors & Physicians, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Paediatrics, VAGUELY INSPIRED by scrubs, in that Niall is sort of The Janitor and Perrie is vaguely Dr. Cox if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylva/pseuds/sylva
Summary: Paediatrics AU. Harry and Louis are competing for the same position. They have differing outlooks, a heavy amount of mutual irritation, and all manner of reasons why getting romantically involved would be a terrible idea. Somehow — well. Things end up happening.He wants your job. Remember that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is planned to be about ten chapters! Just as a disclaimer: I UNDERSTAND NOTHING ABOUT MEDICINE. I do my best to research and try and make things accurate, but I'm going to go ahead and apologise for any faulty medical practice you may read within. 
> 
> Also, as a warning for events that will happen throughout the fic: discussion of very sick children, and associated trauma. If you think this is something which may affect you, proceed with caution. (Though, despite how that sounds, for the most part this will be a relatively light-hearted fic.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

There are few things that can make up for having to admit you’ve been wrong about someone. One of these is ending up happily dating them — and even that only _just_ makes up for it.

Louis was not a man who liked to admit that he had been wrong. And yet, somehow, he quite liked telling the story of how he and Harry had ended up together. Found himself indulging, in fact, in the act of recounting it, even if it did include such an admission. He liked to begin, as one does, at the beginning: 

There had been a storm howling on the day that Louis had found out about his job. As such, there had been a storm howling on the day Louis had found out about Harry.

(Or so he would theatrically proclaim in years to come. Admittedly, if one were to stick to the facts, then it had been a mild, generically overcast Manchester day — but why let a little thing like factual accuracy get in the way of a quality anecdote? His youngest sisters did after all love to hear the tale. And all the best tales start with dark and stormy nights.)

There had been a storm howling, so big and so bad that Louis had just felt — all in his bones, like — that something was going to change. That’s how big the storm was. 

“Last time you said it was the middle of the summer,” Daisy would point out. 

“What,” Louis would scoff. “You’ve never heard of a storm during the summer?”

“You also said it was a warm sunny day, and that you’d gotten out of bed with a spring in your step and no idea of the events that were coming,” Harry would add, with a wry smile. “And how did you feel it _‘all in your bones, like’_ if you had no idea who I was?”

“Honestly, Harold,” Louis would throw up his hands. “It was _fate,_ alright? Destiny was warning me with a shiver down my spine! And thunder! And lightning! You’d think a hopeless romantic like you would understand a little concept like divine providence!”

“Would you just get on with the bloody story?” Lottie would interrupt. “I think _The Parent Trap_ is on in a bit, and I don’t want to miss it just because you won’t stop going on and on, all starry-eyed, about the same thing we’ve heard a million times before.”

Louis would concede her point, and get on with the story. But then, that’s getting a little ahead of things.

In actual fact the day in question, weather regardless, hadn’t really been all that pivotal — it just made for a good starting point. Things didn’t get interesting for a while. The only thing that really needs to be known is that, at the beginning, Harry and Louis had not liked each other.

 

***

 

“Give me _the file,_ Louis!” 

Louis’ grip on the file tightened. "Look, Styles, I already told you, I have it _covered_." 

"Just let me take a look," Harry insisted, apparently struggling to refrain from lashing out, and Louis set his teeth. He hated the affected calm expression on Harry's face; if he’d just snap back, things would be a lot more entertaining around here.

"Fine," he conceded, loathing every second. "Just — be quick, alright? It's not like I'm trying to save a child's life, or anything."

He handed over the file, feeling his lip curl when Harry's fingers brushed against his.

They were paediatric cardiologists. ‘A bit of a mouthful, that!’ - laughed anyone who heard the title, but that was what they were. They worked with children who had problems with their hearts.

Or, that was the _goal,_ at least. As it was, they were currently both trying out for the same job, engaging in some sort of trial period because the board hadn’t been able to decide who was better suited. (That was reason number one for why Louis didn’t like Harry, and not just because they were rivals. He had trained at this hospital for years, and was _damn_ good at what he did, he knew, and the fucking position should have immediately gone to him, no question. Harry was no one! He hadn’t known any of the patients like Louis did! Louis was — getting riled up in his own head, again, dammit.)

Back in the present, Harry was frowning at the file. Louis itched, waiting for him to pass judgement, and seriously regretted having surrendered up the documents. He’d _had_ this, and he didn’t need Harry’s bloody opinion.

“Jesus,” Harry was muttering, which pissed Louis off even further. He could have told Harry it was bad, and they’d have skipped all this.

“I know,” he settled for grumbling. “So much for just some bacterial infection.” 

“Louis, this is...damn,” Harry swallowed. “This kid has two holes in his heart. His pulmonary artery is too narrow, and his aorta is pinched. I mean, Christ, his heart is essentially pumping the wrong way!” 

“I _know,”_ Louis gritted out, irritated that Harry felt the need to tell him things he was already aware of. “And his main arteries are reversed and his blood isn’t getting enough oxygen. I know. I read the results before you, even.”

“He needs open-heart surgery,” Harry said, mouth a thin line. Louis had to put every ounce of self-control into not repeating, _‘I know.’_

“I guess I’ll go tell the parents the results came back,” he said instead, figuring he’d make himself useful as he went to move towards the door, but Harry stopped him.

“Whoa, slow down!” he protested, looking taken aback. “You can’t just drop this sort of thing on them!”

Louis stared at him. “So...what? You want me to pretend the tests said everything was fine and dandy?”

“What? No, of course not,” Harry looked frustrated. “But...God, twenty hours ago these people were planning to go home with their brand new, apparently healthy baby. They’ve probably texted all their friends and family about how the birth had gone perfectly, and were looking forward to collapsing on the sofa and watching reruns of _60 Minute Makeover_ as a brand-new family. They were — ”

“I get it, Harry.”

“Well apparently you _don’t!_ You can’t just march into their lives and shatter their dreams like that! That woman spent nine hours in labour! She’s probably tired, and emotional, and now —” 

“And now we’ve found out her baby’s in deep shit, and standing around here nattering on about her fragile emotional state isn’t going to help him,” Louis rolled his eyes. “She’ll thank us in the long run, trust me.”

Harry pursed his lips, looking reluctant, but obviously unable to argue with Louis’ point. “Fine,” he conceded. “But then let me tell them.” 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “You implying something about my people skills, Styles?”

Harry looked uncomfortable, but then set his jaw. “Okay,” he admitted, meeting Louis’ eyes. “Maybe I am. But — come on, Louis. You’re hardly the most empathetic of doctors!”

Louis swallowed around the sudden resurgence of bad memories, pissed. “Oh, yeah,” he scoffed. “Like you know a damn thing about me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I am not having this argument with you right now,” he said. “I’m going to tell Mr. and Mrs. Thompson what’s wrong with their son, and I suggest you find Dr. Edwards and tell her the results got in, before she strangles us both for leaving her out of the loop.”

Louis set his teeth, glaring at Harry as he left the room. Unempathetic — _honestly._ As though that was some sort of problem that got in the way of his job! Harry was the one who looked at each new patient with goddamn heart-eyes. It was exhausting...and frankly unrealistic. And Harry didn’t know a fucking _thing_ about him, anyway.  

That was reason number two for why Louis didn’t like Harry: their difference in attitudes. Back at the very beginning, after their very first shift together, Harry and Louis and everyone else had gone to the pub for some drinks, along with Liam and Leigh-Anne, who were local paramedics.

“So, what brought you to the field of paediatric cardiology, Harry?” Leigh-Anne had asked. “Fuck, that’s a mouthful.”

Harry had chuckled, and shrugged a little. He spoke in a slow, infuriating voice. It was somehow both insanely boring and a little charming.

“Well, I guess I always wanted to be a doctor,” he said. “You know? Just seemed noble, as a kid. And then I’ve always loved kids so I figured — why not go into paediatrics? It was the logical step. As for cardiology...I dunno. The heart is just...crazy fascinating, I guess. Felt right to go into something that interested me.”

Louis had wondered how exactly he’d answer that same question. It was just something he’d always wanted to do.

“Makes sense,” Jesy, one of the hospital’s surgeons, had been nodding in agreement. “Although, I don’t think I could ever do that. Cause you’re working with all these kids who have these conditions for life, right? Must be hard. But surgery...I dunno. It’s gruesome, and sort of rank if you think too hard about what you’re doing, but I also think it’s easier to disconnect.” She took a sip of beer, contemplative. “Yeah, I could never do what you or Lou do. I mean, damn Louis, you’re always so casual about it and I just...I just don’t understand it.” 

Louis had shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. “I mean, the other day you were complaining about getting intestines on your scrubs, so.”

Jesy’d laughed. “I mean, not properly, but...yeah, maybe that’s fair. I guess you just desensitise.”

Harry had hummed, running a finger around the rim of his pint glass. “Well,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t say I really desensitise, myself. Like...every patient is different, and they’re all pretty hard. But there’s good bits? Too? Or maybe I’m just a masochist. Who knows.” 

Then he’d bitten his lip, looking at Louis.

“You really just detach yourself?” he’d asked, eyebrows drawing together into a frown. “Doesn’t that make it hard to get close to the patients?”

“I mean,” Louis had laughed, a little. “That’s kinda the point, mate. Trust me, it’s a lot easier to make medical decisions if you don’t see Tiny Tim’s watery eyes every time you try and think of a difficult solution.”

Harry had quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head in acknowledgement, but he clearly hadn’t agreed. Louis’d been more than a little irked by that, but he hadn’t had much of a choice but to take a wry gulp of beer as the conversation moved on.

It just made him feel like a bit of a prick, alright? Which was dumb, because he liked his way of doing things, and he knew his way of doing things worked for him. But there was something about Harry Styles that made Louis feel a little too exposed for his liking — something about the way he gazed at you. It was this weird combination of solemn eyes that seemed to be contemplating murder, and then the way he pulled his mouth into a grin that could have been mocking you, even though his cheeks were indented with these bizarrely adorable dimples. Or possibly it was the slow and pensive way he spoke, not like each word was measured and precise but rather as though he was too busy thinking and possibly thinking about _you_ to speak any faster. The whole effect damn near made Louis’ skin crawl.  

So that was reason number two for why Louis did not like Harry. As for why Harry did not like Louis — well, that was maybe sort of Louis’ fault, actually.

It’s important to bear in mind that Louis had been working towards being a paediatric cardiologist for a long, long while. Fucking ages, might be a better way of putting it. He’d been vying to be one since the age of eight, and had suffered through the subsequent aeons of training even though — to be quite frank — he could have easily given up and been a teacher. (What is that, two years of training, maximum? Fucking blink of an eye.)

And what was more, Louis _loved_ the hospital he’d trained at. The thought that he might have to leave it was honestly upsetting. It had his mates, had the crappy coffee machine with its endearingly disgusting tea, even the way the TV in the doctor’s lounge had refused to shift from Channel 5 for the last three and a half years…he couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that, in most hospitals, early morning shifts _didn’t_ intrinsically involve watching _Milkshake!_ in your breaks. Bizarre.

This hospital was kind of a home away from home, and that was possibly the saddest thing he’d ever admitted to himself, but it was _true._ You spent that much time at a place, and it just happened. He loved the people, too — despite what professionalism dictated, Dr. Edwards was totally a friend as well as his mentor, and where would he be without Zayn’s stupidly beautiful face? (Usually scrunched up bitchily at the early starts, as he refused to be a functioning receptionist for at least three hours of bleary squinting, but beautiful nonetheless.) If Louis didn’t manage to secure this position he’d be out of the loop, miss Liam good-naturedly ragging on Leigh-Anne for being a paramedic who can barely drive and making him do all the work, miss Jade’s facial expressions at the dumb shit some of the parents came up with, miss Niall’s cackle echoing through the halls and his apparent ability to maintain a janitoring job without ever actually doing any cleaning. And no one told anecdotes like him and Jesy — _no one._ But that was all at risk, now, because of some tosser who thought he was entitled to what should be _Louis’_ job.

So, really, Louis had been dead set against Harry since the moment Dr. Edwards had told him he hadn’t got the job.

“At least — not _quite,”_ she’d hurried to clarify at the look on Louis’ face. “All’s not lost! They’re gonna try out both you and the other guy for a little while, have me oversee the two of you, see who fits the bill better, and then at the end they’ll decide who gets the job. So, you didn’t get it...but you didn’t _not_ get it, either.”

“So who”—the _fuck_ —“is the other guy?” Louis had asked, tentatively. Exploding in anger was not the best way to go about securing a job, he was aware.  

“Harry something?” Dr. Edwards had offered. “As far as I’m aware he’s pretty much your age…good CV, impressed at his interview. That’s all I know, to be honest.”

No doubt a first class wanker, Louis had surmised. And when he’d arrived it had all got that much worse because — of all the bloody inconveniences — Louis was attracted to him. (That was sort of reason number three for why Louis didn’t like Harry, actually. The nerve of some people, being physically attractive.)

“I’m so glad for this opportunity,” Harry had said, in a deep voice. Dr. Edwards had looked pleased; Louis had resigned to search for a new profession.

“Well, we’re glad to have you, Harry,” Dr. Edwards had smiled at him. “I hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting here?” 

“Oh no,” Harry had shaken his head. “I cycle, so it’s possible to avoid some of the worst traffic.” 

 _I cycle_ , Louis’ thoughts had echoed cynically. Of course he cycled. He was exactly that sort of prat.

And, like, he’d tried not to be bitter about the sight of this guy being shown around _his_ hospital, but he’d just not been very good at it. As in, he wasn’t being a dick or anything, but if they’d just offered _him_ the job, he wouldn’t need to be introduced to Zayn at the front desk. He wouldn’t need to be warned about the very particular ways the people at lab liked to run things, and wouldn’t need to ask once and then again for sheepish clarification where the canteen was, because he _knew it._ And there was no way he’d been going to pity the slight glaze that had appeared in Harry’s eyes as he was bombarded with so much information at once, nor the faintly nervous way he’d fiddled with his bottom lip, because the more uncertain this guy was, the higher Louis’ chances. It was just sense, alright? Nothing personal.

Well, that in mind it’s probably no surprise at all to discover that Louis was hardly bright and sunny towards the guy when it came down to it. Harry had made some courteous attempt at friendly conversation, but Louis had interrupted him. 

“You realise we’re in competition for this job, right?” he’d asked, coldly.

Harry’s smile had slipped a little. “Well, yeah, but — ”

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you, mate,” Louis had continued, crossing his arms. “I’m pretty pissed that I didn’t get this job, and I’m not in the mood to make nice with the competition, alright? I think it’d be better if we just got on with what we’re here to do without pretending to like each other. Because frankly, I don’t really want to like you; I want to beat you. Alright?”

After that, Harry had kept the conversation to a minimum.

And yeah, Louis had maybe been the first class wanker, in the end. He understood that, but such was the situation they were in — and he stood by his words, to be honest. This wasn’t a social opportunity, this was a competition. Harry Styles was the one thing standing in the way of Louis’ dream job in Louis’ dream hospital, and Louis was in it to win it.

 

***

 

The day after bickering with Harry over telling the Thompsons the news, Harry had a weirdly smug glint in his eye. He seemed unable to suppress the self-satisfied tone to his voice when explaining how Mrs. Thompson had actually fainted at the news of her son’s heart problems, and how Mr. Thompson had expressed _sincere_ gratitude at Harry’s understanding and comfort during their difficult time. Louis wasted no time pretending to be impressed.

“Sure do sound happy for someone telling such a somber story,” he drawled. “Where’s your empathy now, Styles?”

Harry huffed, expression turning sour. “Fuck off, Louis.” 

“I’m just saying, you could try and enjoy their suffering a little less, Christ.”

“I’m not _enjoying — ”_

“Sure, sure, okay,” Louis put his hands up, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

“Forget it,” Harry grit his teeth. “Have you taken care of those files yet?” 

“As a matter of fact I have, but thanks for checking up,” Louis answered, rolling his eyes. 

“Hey, don’t want to get yelled at for your incompetence, do I?” Harry offered a patronising smile. Louis wanted to gut him.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Harry’s expression turned to one of scorn. “Sure, Louis, whatever you want.”

He turned and left, leaving Louis feeling unsettled and irritated, as per usual. As also per usual, Louis decided to make himself feel better by going and bothering Zayn. 

“Alright, mate?” he called out upon reaching the front desk, dropping Harry’s stupid files into the correct tray. “Any particular reason why you’re looking like someone ran over your hamster?”

Zayn shot him a look and sighed, taking the top file and scooting his chair a little ways off to drop it in one of the boxes. “I’m fine.” 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Convincing.”

“It’s just,” he shuffled back to his desk and pressed a few useless keys on the computer before giving up and meeting Louis’ eyes with his own grudging ones. “I’m such an _idiot,_ you know?” 

Ah. Louis thought this might have been where this was going; Zayn always delivered on the drama.

“Of all the guys to fall for, I had to pick one that’s fucking _straight_ , didn’t I?”

“We’ve all been there,” Louis said sympathetically, glad for the distraction as he patted his hand. “And, hey, we’ve never heard him say he’s _100%_ straight, have we?”

Zayn gave him an unamused look. “When have you ever seen Liam look at a guy with anything but the strictest level of straight bro in his eyes?” 

“Well,” okay, point to Zayn. “I don’t see why you don’t just _flirt_ with him? Turn on the ol’ Malik charm. Might as well see where it goes.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes. “What the fuck do you suggest I do, Louis? The only times I see him are when I’m with about 7 other people in the pub or when he’s rushing in someone dying on a stretcher. I’d hardly call that prime flirting opportunity.”

“I dunno,” Louis tried. “Drama of love? ‘Oh, Liam! You’re so strong and capable! I’m falling further and further in love with you with every second that passes!’”

“Is this the moment where he yells at me for interfering with medical aid, or is that afterwards when testifying in my inquiry?”

Louis snorted. “Alright, fine. You could just text him, or something. See if he wanted to go see a film?”

“And what about when he assumes it’s just two guys hanging out being dudes, and I look like a fucking wanker offering to pay? I’m telling you, Lou, I’ve gotta just nip it in the bud before it gets too serious.”

He then sighed dramatically, eyelashes fluttering, and Louis huffed out a laugh.

“Good luck with that,” he agreed, and then tapped a businesslike hand on the surface of the desk. “Anyway, I better go talk to the Thompsons, walk them through the surgery. Do try not to expire from despair while I’m away.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Zayn warned, sulkily. Louis let his head drop back into a laugh as he walked off.

 

***

 

Harry reached the corridor where the Thompsons were waiting at the same time as Louis, and they both frowned at each other, pausing before the Thompsons could catch sight of them.

“What are you doing here?” Harry grumbled, and Louis specifically did not watch the alluring sweep of his eyelashes as he blinked grumpily, drawing his arms in to cross them. 

“My job, I thought,” Louis answered pointedly. “Was gonna walk them through the surgery, so. You can toddle off elsewhere.”

“Yeah? Well it’s my job too, and I got here first,” Harry countered.

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ “What the hell are you on about?” Louis demanded. “We got here at the same time!”

“And who came better prepared?” Harry asked, with a pointed raise of his eyebrows as he turned to gesture behind him, where Jesy was hurrying to catch up. The ‘ _voila!’_ was implied.

“Sorry, Harry, got momentarily bogged down,” she was apologising. “Where are the parents?”

“Jess!” Louis couldn’t help but hiss, offended. “Why are you helping _him?”_  

Jesy blinked, and then narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t aware every little thing was a competition,” she said, with a warning in her voice. “I’m pretty sure the only thing that matters here is that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson feel comfortable with the open heart surgery I am about to perform on their newborn son. Or did you think you had something more important to bicker about?” 

Louis lowered his gaze, feeling uncomfortably like a shamed school child. “Of course not,” he said, a little guilty. But the smug quirk to Harry’s mouth meant he couldn’t quite leave it at that. “I suppose we can all do it.”

Harry levelled him with an unimpressed look, and huffed. Jesy just shook her head. 

“They down there, then?” she asked, pointedly. “If you two act like twats in front of the patient’s parents I’m getting Perrie to sack the lot of you, just so you know.”

“Noted,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “And yeah, they’re just this way.”

Louis allowed Harry to lead the way as the three of them walked the few steps it took to stand in front of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, but made sure to then place himself so that they were parallel, neither ahead of the other. Then, faced with the cold pallor of the Thompsons’ skin as well as the dark purple bags under their eyes, Louis felt his prickly defences melt into shame.

“The surgery should last around eight hours,” Jesy was saying, calm and gentle. “We’ll be inserting a homograph…that is, an infant aorta, from an organ donor, to connect Baby’s pulmonary article to — ” 

“Sam’s,” Mrs. Thompson choked out, interrupting. Jesy blinked, thrown.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s his name,” Mr. Thompson explained, weakly. “We’ve decided.”

Louis’ heart sank. Everything was a lot more real with a name. As though she had heard his thoughts, Mrs. Thompson spoke up again.

“We know it’s stupid,” she said, fiercely. “To name him, in case….” her voice faltered for a moment, and her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, but she soldiered on. “We _know_ it is, but we don’t _care._ Sam’s our son, you understand? He’s not just _‘Baby’,_ or…or anything like that. He’s our little boy, even if he’s only been physically with us for a few days.”

“Hey,” Harry spoke softly, as Mrs. Thompson dabbed at the tears leaking from her eyes. “We understand; of course we understand. And we can’t promise anything but — Sam’s in capable hands. We’ll do everything we can to return him to you, I swear.”

Mr. Thompson nodded, squeezing his wife’s shoulder. “Thank you, doctor. You...you were saying?”

“Right,” Jesy gave an understanding smile. “Well, the homograph will connect Sam’s pulmonary article to his right ventricle, help his heart to work on its own.” 

“Of course,” Louis spoke up. “You need to understand that even if this works his new aorta won’t grow up with him. He’ll need replacements, and probably…probably about four different major operations throughout childhood.”

“But, he’ll be able to live a normal life, other than that, if all goes well,” Harry countered, earnest. It irked Louis more than it should have, as though he were trying to one up him…but whatever.

When they were done answering the Thompsons’ remaining questions to the best of their ability, Louis trying to suppress his stubborn irritation towards Harry, it was Louis and Harry’s lunch break.

In the grand scheme of things, whether Harry and Louis had to eat lunch at the same time or not did not matter. _Yet,_ when it meant they had to spend even more time in each other’s company because they sat with the same group of people, it became yet another bee in Louis’ bonnet. He couldn’t have a fucking moment without seeing the guy’s stupid hair out of the corner of his eye, could he? Or enjoy one conversation without his annoying, gravelly voice interrupting any possible piece of mind Louis might hope to achieve? 

Louis just wished there was some way he could go back in time and prevent Harry from befriending all of Louis’ friends — but unfortunately even if he had been able to manipulate time it seemed unlikely. Everyone else just fucking _loved_ Harry! And as for where their sense of loyalty was? Well. Louis would love to know. Ever since that first day, when Jade had waved Harry over to their table, his friends had all just lapped it up. Louis just had to sit there, pushing limp mashed potato around his plate, and avoid more arguments by attempting to ignore Harry’s presence. Daily.

On this particular occasion, he was trying to have a fulfilling conversation with Niall about football. Harry was sitting across the table, anyway, so if Louis tilted his body slightly and focused on his conversation maybe he’d be able to enjoy his lunch break, and ignore whatever gross health food Harry was no doubt pretending to like. The weirdo.

Of course it was about two seconds after deciding that that he had to shoot Harry a glance, unable to quite suppress his own curiosity, taking in where he was chatting animatedly with Jade, and — okay, c’mon.

“The fuck are you eating?” he found himself scoffing, cutting across Niall to stare at Harry’s plate. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t pick a fight, but Harry was taking the fucking cake.

Harry blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “Uh, avocado salad?”

“I think you mean green mush,” Louis corrected, wrinkling his nose as Harry speared a bit on his fork.

Harry raised an eyebrow, pointedly chewing the piece. “Take it you don’t like avocado, then.”

 _“Avocado?”_ Niall snorted, before Louis could reply. “Mate, if it ain’t at least 60% salt or butter, Louis hasn’t heard of it.”

Which, unfair, but alright. Harry turned back to look at Louis, mouth twitching with a sneering kind of amusement they saved only for each other. 

“You literally spend your days treating heart disease,” he pointed out, and Louis hated that under his own annoyance was something that felt dangerously like embarrassment.

“I eat what I want,” he said, and leant forward, half daring Harry to take it further. Harry raised an eyebrow, but it was Zayn who replied, snorting. 

“Oh yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” he laughed. “What was that you were complaining of the other day? Heart burps?”

Louis made a face, and ignored the shallow glint of disappointment that he’d missed out on Harry’s potential response. “My heart’s just _fine,”_ he waved a hand, sitting back. “I’m a cardiologist; I’ll know when I’m in real danger.”

“I dunno,” Jesy was grinning at him. “Zayn’s ringing some bells here. I distinctly remember you recounting the special kind of terror of ‘when your heart’s feeling weird and you’re not sure if it’s about to die on you.’”

 _“Buddy?”_ Jade mimicked, making a show of knocking at her chest. _“You alright in there?”_

“Okay,” Louis held up his hands, painfully aware of the smug grin on Harry’s face. “That shit happens to _everybody._ Fine — ” he rolled his eyes as Harry opened his mouth. “Maybe not Jimmy McAvocado over here, but the rest of you! You all laughed and agreed! Don’t put this on me!” 

“Whatever you say, Lou,” Niall smirked. Backstabber. 

“I don’t need this,” Louis sniffed. “I save lives.”

“So do we,” Jesy pointed out. “Well, Zayn and Niall sort of...indirectly.”

“I keep this hospital clean,” Niall agreed proudly. “People die from germs, you know.”

“You don’t say,” Louis drawled. “Wish they’d taught us that at medical school, would’ve come in real handy.” 

Niall was busy laughing when Jade’s phone buzzed, and she pulled it out to check it. 

“Hey, Liam wants to know if anyone’s up for the pub quiz tonight?” she reported. “Leigh-Anne’s ditching for some date and he needs a partner.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn agreed, seemingly without thought as he sawed away at a piece of his chicken pie. Louis stared at him, and there was a moment where Zayn genuinely seemed unaware of what he’d agreed to. Then, with a look reminiscent of a character in an old Western spotting the fast-approaching train in the distance, the blood drained from his face.

“Uh,” he stuttered, obviously panicking at the idea of an entire evening alone in a pub with Liam. “Anyone else wanna come?”

“Alright then,” Louis agreed with an amused shake of the head, at the exact same time that Harry replied, “Sure.”

They froze, and then glanced at each other. Harry tilted his head, and Louis immediately regretted trying to be a good friend. He turned to look at Zayn, whose eyes silently pleaded that he did not back out of it. _Goddammit._

“I’m not being on your team,” he warned Harry, lifting a finger. Harry’s expression was, as always, amused. 

“You can be on a team with me, Louis!” Zayn chimed in quickly. “And Harry, you like Liam, right?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, and then looked pointedly at Louis, his face morphing into a horrifically attractive challenge. “We look forward to beating you.” 

Louis immediately bristled. “Oh you’re going _down,_ Styles,” he vowed. “Me and Zayn are gonna wipe the fucking floor with you, ain’t that right, Z?”  

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn mumbled, looking like he regretted nothing so much as agreeing to come.

 

***

 

The pub down the road was, honestly, sort of generic. For one thing it was called _The Red Lion,_ and for another it just had very few defining characteristics. The lunch was mediocre, the drink options pretty standard, and the pattern of the cushioned seats was one Louis swore he’d seen up and down the country. It did, however, offer a discount to hospital staff, and for that reason it was the backdrop to 98% of Louis’ social encounters.

And, more importantly, tonight it was to be the setting of a momentous war.

Louis reminded Zayn of such as they were up at the bar getting the first round, and Zayn let out a groan.

“I cannot believe I’ve landed myself in such a catastrophe of a night,” he moaned. “I’m never volunteering to do anything ever again. You’re gonna make us look like absolute twats and Liam’s never going to fancy me, ever.” 

“Oh hush, Malik,” Louis rolled his eyes, handing over the money to the barman. “Liam’s not going to hate you just because we beat him and Harry at a quiz. And anyway, I don’t like your attitude! If we really want to win, we’ve got to _own it_ , you know? March in and take what’s rightfully ours! Fight them on the beaches, yada yada.” 

“This isn’t fucking World War 2, Tommo, and I couldn’t give a toss about the quiz,” Zayn grumbled. “I just want to somehow escape the night unscathed.” 

“Zayn, if you blow this for me, I’m ending our relationship,” Louis threatened, taking half of the glasses and nodding to the barman. “And hey, maybe you’ll impress Liam with your dazzling general knowledge.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” Zayn wallowed. “Remember that time you convinced me planes do a loop-the-loop right after take-off?”

Oh God, he was right; Louis might have to do this one himself.

“Well,” he tried. “Regardless….just don’t fuck it up.” 

They sat down at the booth where Harry and Liam were already sitting, and Louis realised too late that he’d ended up opposite Harry, who was looking disgustingly earnest as he smiled politely at whatever Liam was going on about. (Louis noted how his stupid shirt was unbuttoned a ridiculous amount, and wanted to _wreck_ him.) 

“Evening, Liam!” Louis chirped brightly, quickly moving on from wherever his thoughts were going and pointedly ignoring Harry. “Ready to be destroyed?” 

Liam wagged a finger. “Oh, not so fast, Tommo,” he grinned. “Harry and I have _got_ this.”

“Bullshit,” Louis scoffed amiably. “There’s no fucking way we’re going to lose. Isn’t that right, Zayn?”

There was an obvious pause, and everyone turned to look at Zayn, who swallowed, eyes darting away from Liam. “Yeah, um,” he mumbled. “No. No way are we...doing that. Losing.” 

 _Wow. Honestly just...wow._  

“Okay,” Louis said, still smiling through the cringe. “Well said, buddy. Point is: I’m in it to win it.”

“You say that,” Harry drawled. “But are you gonna put your money where your mouth is?” And then he smirked, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands.

It was simultaneously the most irritating and the most attractive thing Louis had seen in a long while. His body wasn’t sure whether to feel turned on or pissed off, and settled for some unholy mess in the middle.

“Just watch me,” he hissed, and marveled at the way playful competition with Liam could turn into real annoyance so quickly.

“Bring it on,” Harry replied, redundantly, and Louis was about to snap something back when the weedy old man who read out the questions tapped the microphone, gaining the pub’s attention. 

“Thank you all for coming,” he bleated. “It’s a good turnout tonight, and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting. So, without further ado: the questions!” 

Louis glared at Harry in the pause as Zayn readied their answer sheet, and hated the coolly amused way Harry looked back. The old man with the microphone cleared his throat, and Louis leant back in his chair, folding his arms as he maintained eye contact with Harry. Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Question one,” the man began, and Louis tore his eyes away from Harry’s to focus in on where Zayn’s pen was poised at the ready. “Should be easy enough. Is Puerto-Rico an American state?” 

Liam’s whispered questions from across the table were not quite enough to draw Louis’ attention away from checking Zayn’s writing was legible as he scrawled ‘ _no’_ , but Harry’s throaty chuckle as he grabbed the pen and fondly shook his head was irritatingly distracting. Louis reminded himself to focus.

“Question two: In what year did Osama Bin Laden die?”

“Alright,” Liam sat back, scratching his head. “I may have been a little optimistic when I signed up for a pub quiz.” 

Zayn laughed, adoringly. “Hey, I’m sure you’d be killing it if this was a paramedics quiz,” he offered, and Liam’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Zayn,” scolded Louis from where he was hunched over the piece of paper. “Quit fraternising with the enemy! Low morale is good for us!” 

“You’re gonna need more strategy than that if you really plan on winning,” murmured Harry, eyes still sparked with amusement. Louis could not understand how everything about him could be so stupidly irritating. (And sexy. But mostly that first one.)

“Trust me, Harry,” Louis retorted. “I’ve got a whole lot more than just strategy backing me up here.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry teased. “And what’s that, then?”

“A little thing called intelligence, that some of us are lacking,” he said, painfully aware of how weak his shit-talking game was tonight. “And it’s not just going to win me the quiz, but also the _job.”_

Harry’s seemingly permanent cloud of amusement faltered a little for the first time that night, and his smile soured. 

“So that’s how this is gonna be, huh?” he asked, tilting his mouth. “Just another argument about the job?” 

“Don’t know what the fuck else you were expecting, honestly,” Louis sniffed, even as his stomach swooped with discomfort. “And I notice you’re avoiding the question of your intelligence. Bit of a sore subject, perhaps?” 

“I’m not self-conscious about my intelligence,” Harry rolled his eyes, sitting back against the booth sofa. “Just thought it was too stupid a remark to acknowledge.” 

“Convenient,” Louis sneered, and would have continued had Zayn not prodded his arm.

“Louis, you missed the third question,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The ‘ _and you're being a twat’_ was silent, and Louis did not care for it.

"Right," he muttered anyway, allowing the situation to be somewhat disarmed. "What was it?"

"What's the oldest city in the world," Liam supplied helpfully. 

"Any ideas?" Zayn asked in an undertone.

"Um," Louis bit his lip, a little too distracted to really think logically. "Maybe Athens?"

 _“Lou's saying Athens,”_ Liam whispered audibly across the table.

 _“It’s Jericho,”_ Harry whispered back, and Louis' mood soured even more. The worst thing was that that sounded like the right answer.  

Zayn also appeared to have heard, because he glanced at Louis, mouth twitching at Louis'

bitchy expression, and then promptly wrote down _'Jericho'._  

Disloyal bastard.

"Question four!" the man with the microphone continued. "What colour is vermilion a shade of?"

"Green," Louis muttered to Zayn. "Isn't it? I think it's green."

 _"Is it green?"_ Liam accordingly asked Harry, who snorted quietly.

_"No, it's red."_

Zayn smirked at Louis. "It _is_ red," he confirmed, and Louis moodily crossed his arms.  

"Fuck off," he muttered. "Do I look like a man who paints to you?"

"Question 5! Mercury is the Roman equivalent to which Greek god?"

"Oh!" Louis knew this. His sisters had read the _Percy Jackson_ books a million times and rattled on about them so he bloody _knew_ this."Um -- the, um -- fuck, give me a minute, it's...Goddammit, I know this! It's -- "

 _“Hermes,”_ whispered Harry. 

“Okay what the _fuck_ is your problem?” Louis snapped, a little too loud.

Harry levelled him with a look. “Something wrong?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, something's wrong! I could do without your know-it-all attitude, that's what!"

“I thought I was lacking intelligence," Harry said innocently. “Now suddenly I’m a know-it-all?”

“So that's what this is about, is it?” Louis scorned. “Tryna prove something? Thought you were _above that_ , or something.”

“Hey, all I was doing was answering the questions," Harry pointed out, still playing up that innocent façade. "You're the one who's got all defensive. And — oh!” his face lit up in a fake smile. “Maybe it's a sore spot, after all."

"It's not a bloody sore spot!" Louis growled. "I am perfectly secure in my own intelligence, thank you very much.”

“I dunno, Louis, you sure do seem on edge. You getting worried because you equated this to getting the job and now you’re losing?”

Beside Louis, Zayn was shifting awkwardly, and Liam let out a quiet cough into his fist. Louis ignored the both of them.

“We’re not even halfway through the quiz yet, what the fuck do you mean I’m losing?” he demanded. “And it’s got nothing to do with — ”

“Nothing to do with the job?” Harry repeated, looking far more pissed off than Louis’d really seen so far. It was less satisfying than he might have imagined. “Sure is...what did you say? _Convenient_ that it’s got nothing to do with the job when you’re the one losing. I’m sick of you being such a prick about everything for no fucking reason, and honestly I think it’s _all_ because of the stupid job, because you’re _threatened_ by me, or — or something!”

 _“Bullshit_ am I threatened by you,” Louis snapped back. “Not fucking ever, and certainly not right now when this quiz is just some stupid joke that hasn’t got anything to do with the job. My ability to answer trivia questions reflects _nothing_ on my medical knowledge, but — hey! At least you know what colour vermilion is!”

“Where are you _going_ with this?” Harry demanded. “Honestly, enlighten me. Because it sounds a lot like you’re trying to bait me into asking you medical questions as some sort of test, and surely you’re not _really_ that insecure?” 

“For fuck’s sake, no that’s not what I’m going for. You think I need to _prove_ that I could answer any question you levelled at me? I spent fucking years training for this!” 

“Yeah? Well _so have I!”_ Harry’s voice had reached a volume completely inappropriate for inside a pub. “So has every other fucking doctor! You’re not somehow special for preparing for your career!”

“That’s not what I’m _saying!”_ Louis shouted back. “Are you purposely misunderstanding me or something? Because you’re only making yourself look _stupid!”_  

“Oh!” Harry laughed maniacally. “Back to the — ”

— “Um, excuse me, guys,” a tentative voice interrupted.

Louis blinked, momentarily thrown by the reminder that he and Harry were surrounded by other people, and took in the sight of one of the bar guys, looking awkward. The entire pub appeared to be staring at them, the weedy old man with the microphone especially just openly watching through the silence.

Oh, God. 

“It’s just,” the guy continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really making a commotion, and if you don’t quiet down we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Right,” Harry croaked, looking mortified. Beside him, Liam was covering his face, shoulders hunched with embarrassment. “Really, um, really sorry about — ” 

“You know what, it’s fine,” Louis said quickly, and downed the last drops of his beer. “I was actually about to leave anyway.” 

“Lou—” Zayn tried, looking plaintive, but the pub employee cleared his throat. 

“If you don’t mind,” he agreed, seeming relieved. “Sorry, guys, but. You know.”

“‘S fine,” Louis shook his head, pulling his mouth into what must have been a sour smile indeed. “Like I said, I was just leaving.”

With that, he shuffled out from the booth, straightened his shirt, and walked through the pub with his head held as high as it could be in the situation.

Which is to say, not that high. Fuck Harry Styles.


	2. Chapter 2

“On the plus side, I didn’t look so bad,” Zayn offered the next morning, smirking at Louis over the reception desk. “I started off terrible, but by the end the only thing Liam was paying attention to was you and Harry being bellends.”

“Shut up, Zayn,” Louis muttered. “I don’t need to revisit the events of last night, okay?”

Zayn ignored him. “I just don’t understand why you act like that around each other. I mean, Harry’s always so nice when you’re not around, and as for you — I’ve never seen anyone rile you up like that! Honestly, it’s a little impressive.”

“You’re a twat,” Louis replied. “That’s what’s impressive, here: how much of a twat you are.”

“Aw, Lou,” Zayn grinned like a little shit. “Is that a bit of a sore spot?”

“You know one of these days, Malik, you’re gonna push me too far and I will straight up murder you.”

In lieu of replying, Zayn simply reached out and messed up Louis’ hair. Louis really did hate him sometimes — in a violent, best-mate sort of way.

It was, of course, then as he was squawking and trying to right his hair that Dr. Edwards approached, raising an immaculate eyebrow.

“Everything all right, Louis?” she asked, amused. “You look like you’re trying to fend off a bee, although I didn’t know we had a bug problem.”

“Ha-ha,” Louis grumbled, still patting at his head. “Let’s all laugh at Louis, shall we?”

“I’m glad you suggested it,” Dr. Edwards replied, eyes sparkling. “But no, really I’m here to tell you that Sam made it through the surgery all in ship-shape, so I need you and Harry to go give the Thompsons the good news. Where is Harry, by the way?”

Louis fought hard not to let his expression turn grumpy, but obviously failed as Dr. Edwards rolled her eyes.

“For God’s sake,” she said. “If you and Harry don’t start playing nice then I’ll have them fire the both of you. Oh, there he is. OI — Harry!”

Harry came over to them from where he’d been talking to one of the girls from lab, although he did not glance at Louis. (He was, as ever, disgustingly attractive, and Louis sort of felt like a little boy who wanted to grab someone’s pigtails.)

“Sam’s all good for now,” Dr. Edwards was explaining for Harry’s benefit. “So you guys get to go tell Mr. and Mrs. Thompson the good news, while I talk to the new patient. Also, I need to remind you about that paediatric cardiology conference thing they’re making us go to next week. It’s after your shift so we can change and then all go together from the hospital, but don’t forget about it and just go home, alright?”

God, Louis _had_ forgotten about that, or — repressed it, more like. He loved Dr. Edwards, but there was nothing he looked forward to less than having to spend what would no doubt end up as more one on one time with Harry. That was just fucking...great.

It was as Louis was dreading the conference, stubbornly not caring that Harry still hadn’t looked at him, that Jade came over to their little group, clapping Dr. Edwards on the back.

“Alright, guys?” she greeted them, sweet and bubbly as ever. “You all heard the news yet?”

Louis frowned. “The news?”

“In a couple of weeks, me and the other nurses are putting on a talent show! It’s for the kids, like, but we think it’d be great if some of the staff joined in, made the kids feel less shy, you know? Also I bet it’ll be dead funny. You’ll do your goat impression, won’t you Pez?”

“Oh yeah, alright,” Dr. Edwards agreed, laughing a little. “Here’s hoping it won’t frighten any of the little-uns.”

“Goat impression?” Harry sounded amused.

“It’s dead good,” Jade said, elbowing Dr. Edwards in the arm. “But she can’t show you now if she’s doing it at the talent show. We want an authentic crowd, you know?”

“You suggesting my goat impression is a one-hit-wonder?” Dr. Edwards demanded, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know it’s one of the highest forms of comedy, animal impressions.” Her façade melted suddenly as something occurred to her. “Hey, you’ve gotta have Jess doing accents! Her Scottish is too aggressive not to laugh at.”

Jade giggled. “You’re dead right; I’ll ask her. Anyway,” she turned back to Harry and Louis. “You lot better attend, if you know what’s good for you. And you better applaud everything, too. I want to have a nice audience, and I don’t want anyone to be embarrassed.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Harry assured her. “And of course I’ll be there.”

“Me too,” Louis agreed. “Sounds brilliant.”

Jade beamed at them. “Great! Well, I best get back to work. Hey, Louis, don’t you have a shift in the Walk-In Centre right now?”

Louis glanced at the clock and swore. “Oh, fuck, I do!”

He turned to hurry in the direction of his shift, but Harry touched his arm.

“Hang on,” he said, and Louis blinked up at him, a little thrown by the sudden point of contact. “What about the Thompsons?”

“Oh,” Louis said, dazed. “I guess you’ll have to tell them on your own, sorry.”

It was only when Harry’s eyebrows had pulled together into a little confused frown that Louis realised it was a bit of a weird thing to apologise for, given that they were always bickering over who got to do what and resented time spent in each other’s company. He was too late for his WIC shift to really do anything about it, though, so he just sped off, conveniently avoiding the whole situation.

Best not to dwell on these things.

 

***

 

By the time Louis returned from his WIC shift it was just him and Zayn left at the front desk, and they chatted as Louis filled in the relevant paperwork about the patient who’d wanted someone to check on their benign looking rash, Zayn complaining idly about the weird bruises on his knees as he doodled caricatures on the back of an old memo. Their relevant peace was disturbed, however, by the sound of a familiar voice from across the room.

“Hey, Jade.”

The sight of Zayn panicking at Liam’s unexpected appearance wasn’t a particular rare occurrence, but it never ceased to amuse Louis regardless.

“Alright, Liam?” Jade’s voice returned, oblivious to Zayn’s head snapping up as his eyes jumped to the size of dinner plates. “What’s brought you here?”

“Just popping in before my shift begins,” Liam replied easily, as Zayn began to frantically search for something to do that made him look useful.

Louis looked on in amusement. It seemed Zayn didn’t want Liam to realise he was such a terrible receptionist, although he was fighting a losing battle there.

“Oh yeah? Leigh-Anne told me about the fork accident you guys had yesterday. Sounded right dramatic!” Jade continued. (Zayn spotted the pile of files sitting at the very edge of his desk and grabbed desperately at the top one, flipping it open randomly and sticking his nose in it.)

“It was!” Liam was agreeing. “I really can’t stay and chat though, sorry, this really is just me popping in to ask Jess something.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Jade assured him. “I’ve got to go check room 17E’s drip, anyway.”

Louis liked to think he could hear Zayn’s gulp as Liam waved goodbye to Jade and moved towards his desk. Zayn’s hands possibly trembled, his heart probably picked up, and swooning may well have been seconds away. Liam drew closer and closer, oblivious, expression empty as Zayn’s knuckles tightened around the paper, and had this been a film the music would have swelled, the camera zooming in on the bead of sweat appearing on Zayn’s forehead, on the unsuspecting fast-approaching Liam, telling the audience that _this was it,_ something was about to happen, romance would be achieved in any second. Despite himself, Louis leaned closer, watching as Liam drew in line with the desk, almost in slow motion, a tiny thread hanging from his sleeve, one hand reaching up to brush at his forehead, and at any moment Zayn was going to claim his chance, at any moment Zayn was going to...to...lower the file and nod professionally? The imaginary music fizzled out with a record scratch.

“Liam,” Zayn greeted casually, apparently unaffected by Liam’s presence. Liam, for his part, appeared faintly puzzled as he nodded back, but that might have been more of a reaction to Louis’ inexplicable giant fucking grin than to Zayn’s cool-as-a-cucumber outer shell. Hard to tell. He was gone in seconds, anyway.

“Nice,” Louis commented, once Liam had passed. Zayn shot him a look, and then dropped his face to the surface of his desk with a groan. His computer made a resulting and slightly pathetic ‘error’ noise as his nose smushed into the keyboard.

“Why am I such a fucking tosser around him, Lou?” he whined, words slightly muffled and emphasised by a blind, stabbing hand gesture into the air.

“Aw,” Louis said, sympathetically. “Zayn. Honey. I have no idea. He’s literally the least threatening man on the planet.”

“Ugh!” Zayn lifted his head, silencing his protesting desktop. “Why do I tell you anything.”

Louis chuckled, but reached forwards to pat Zayn’s hand. “You’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t hint that you’re interested,” he advised, pretty wisely in his opinion. “Your plan of not getting too attached is obviously bust and, come on: how can it get worse than this?”

Zayn grumbled wordlessly, jabbing at a letter on his keyboard with unnecessary force.

“You know I have a point,” Louis continued, leaning forward over the desk so Zayn couldn’t ignore him. “If you don’t follow my advice now, you’ll only have to suffer in the future when it turns out I was right.”

“I hate you,” Zayn moaned, giving up. “Can’t you just let me wallow in peace?”

“I’m only fulfilling my role as a good friend,” Louis explained solemnly. “What kind of best mate would I be if I simply watched you be sad and did nothing? You know this is purely selfless, Z.”

“Oh bullshit,” Zayn rolled his eyes. “You love every second. BUT,” and here his expression suddenly became dangerous, and he jabbed a pointed finger on the desk. “You just bloody fucking _wait,_ mate,” he hissed, and Louis snorted.

 _“Wait-mate,”_ he mocked, prompting Zayn to narrow his eyes.

“I’ve seen the way you and Harry dance around each other,” he warned. “I know what’s coming.”

Louis raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Petty disputes?” he suggested.

“You’re going to fall in _love,”_ Zayn vowed, and then had the nerve to quirk the corners of his mouth into a little smirk, as though he had played a trump card.

“Oh, wow,” Louis rolled his eyes. “You really are running out of comebacks, huh? I mean, I’m the first to admit it when someone’s fit, and Harry’s packing some serious looks, but the guy’s a smarmy prick. He’s all fake charm and — and stuck-up morals. There aren’t enough glistening princess eyes and buff biceps in the world to make me fall for him.”

“I’m calling it now,” Zayn insisted, crossing his arms moodily. “No one winds you up like Harry, mate, and I know exactly why. You’re gonna fall head over fucking heels for him, and then you are gonna seriously regret all this dicking around about Liam, I swear to God.”

Louis grinned. “Is that a threat?” he teased. “Guess I should start watching my back, huh?”

“Just warning you, Lou,” Zayn repeated, raising his hands. “You better not come crying to me when you’re kept up at night by the thought of his forearms alone.”

Choosing not to remark on the oddly specific detail, Louis couldn’t quite keep the mirth out of his voice. “Alright, Zayn,” he placated. “No crying, I promise.”

Honestly, Zayn and his imagination.

 

***

 

The day of the paediatric cardiology conference came all too soon, in Louis’ opinion. It was being held in some bigshot, tall building in the city centre which was presumably normally reserved for bankers and businessmen, and it was about a half hour car ride away, so Dr. Edwards had organised for there to be a taxi taking the three of them there from the hospital. Not _too_ bad, right? Louis could just chat with Dr. Edwards or the taxi driver, look aimlessly out of the window and enjoy the ride, right?

_Wrong._

“Oh, God, Perrie,” Jade called apologetically as they were about to leave, and Dr. Edwards turned expectantly.

“What is it?”

“I’m really sorry, it’s just Janie’s mum really wants to have a word? I know you’ve got that thing to go to but — ”

“If it won’t take too long?” Dr. Edwards asked, glancing at Harry and Louis. “The taxi’s outside, but I can just call another one, if you really need me right now.”

“God, yes,” Jade nodded gratefully. “That’d be amazing, thanks, Pez.”

“Okay,” Dr. Edwards turned to look at Harry and Louis, offering a little apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys, guess I’ll have to meet you there. Just tell the front desk what you’re there for; they’ll tell you where to go.”

“Alright, see you there,” Harry said politely, as though this wasn’t the worst thing that could possibly have happened.

Okay so, maybe Louis was being a little melodramatic, but they hadn’t really spoken in non-professional terms since that disaster of a pub quiz, and a half hour car ride of just the two of them was all set to be horrifically awkward.

Harry looked at Louis expectantly as Dr. Edwards walked off with Jade, and even this was already excruciating.

“Shall we go, then?” Louis asked gruffly, and Harry shrugged but started walking. Louis walked after him, resenting the slight advantage Harry’s longer legs gave him and dreading every second of the rest of the day.

Harry got in the idling taxi first, greeting the driver and scooting over to leave room for Louis, who indulged in the smallest little pause before he too slid inside of the small space. The middle seat was free, so they didn’t actually have to touch each other, but Louis still felt all too close. Harry was sitting right over there, the sharp line of his jawline and the curve of his nose highlighted by the way the light came through the window behind him, and Louis had to flick his eyes away from the precise way Harry’s fingers twisted round his phone.

The hum of the engine as the car pulled away from the curb only seemed to highlight the lack of talking, and Louis couldn’t help but immediately glance back over at Harry, who was still looking down at his hands — his large, goddamn hands.

Louis felt like experiencing a silent car ride with someone shouldn’t be this excruciating, and maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was all in his head, and Harry was sitting there calm as ever, deep in his thoughts, but either way Louis just couldn’t handle it.

“Look,” he said abruptly, and he just wasn’t good with silence, alright? “Look. Can we just put the pub thing behind us? It was stupid, and unnecessary, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to work together normally, you know?”

Harry shifted a little in his seat, turning his head to look at Louis. “I’m pretty sure we work together fine, in a professional situation,” he said, slowly. “I’d say the only thing holding us back from being more than ‘fine’ would be your conviction that we’re destined to be enemies, or whatever it is you’ve decided.”

Oh. There was a long pause as Louis tried to think of how to answer that, his heart beating a little too fast. Then he swallowed, lifting a hand in a useless gesture that he aborted before it could become anything, and cleared his throat.

“It’s not just some conviction,” he tried, weakly. “It’s....I mean, come on... we _are_ rivals, you know? And I’m not _trying_ to pick fights or, or anything. Maybe we...I dunno, maybe we just don’t get on.”

“Right,” Harry said lightly, turning to look out the window. “Maybe.”

He didn’t say anything else, and Louis felt horribly inclined to feel ashamed, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. What was _with_ his emotions around Harry?

The silence was actually significantly worse after that, with Louis cursing his initial impatience. Harry was just staring out the window, the sound of the taxi driver’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel every now and then drilling through the tension, and each time Louis shifted slightly his jeans would scrape against the leather of the car seat with a squeaky, loud noise that made him wince.

He had to ask the driver to put the radio on, eventually, and didn’t that just feel like admitting defeat.

 

***

 

The next thing Louis knew, they were lost. They’d reached the building fine, if not awkwardly, made it into the lift, ridden it in a frosty silence, and then gotten off at the relevant floor, all with little to no difficulty.

Except that, Louis had _hoped_ it was the relevant floor. Several minutes later, and it was getting pretty clear that this was _not_ the right floor.

“For Christ’s sake, we’re gonna be late,” Harry grumbled, letting the door to the room they’d just looked through fall shut with a desolate clunk. “This is clearly the wrong floor. I guess we should go back downstairs and ask reception again?”

Despite the line of irritation written into his shoulders, he had yet to point out that this was technically all Louis’ fault, which annoyed Louis more than anything. They might as well _acknowledge_ it — right now it was just another elephant to join the herd already walking from room to room with them.

“Right,” Louis agreed, rolling his eyes as he made to go back to the lift. “I guess we probably should.”

“Whoa,” Harry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, sudden and warm, and he’d got to stop _doing_ that. “Where are you going?”

“Uh,” Louis frowned, shrugging Harry’s hand off of him. “The lift? What...you honestly wanna walk down fifteen flights of stairs?”

“No, of course not,” Harry rolled his eyes, as though Louis was the one being irrational here. “But that’s not the way to the lift.”

“Um, yeah it is,” Louis corrected him. “We walked down this corridor, into that room and then we came out again. So, we gotta walk back down that way to get to the lift.”

“No we don’t,” Harry insisted, looking increasingly annoyed. “We came down _that_ way, and then walked into the room. The lift’s in _that_ direction.”

“The fuck are you on about?” Louis stared at him. “We did _not_ walk down that way!”

“Are you messing with me right now? Yes we did! Now would you hurry up and walk this way so we won’t be late?”

“I’m not the one insisting we walk in the wrong direction!” Louis protested.

“Oh my God!” Harry threw up his hands. “I am not doing this with you right now! The thing’s gonna start in like five minutes, so would you just stop dicking around and walk back to the flipping lift?”

Louis set his teeth. _“Fine,”_ he gave in. “But I’m really gonna take the mick when it turns out you’ve picked the wrong way, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut up and walk.”

So, they walked. And no lift appeared.

“Aha!” Louis crowed, when Harry eventually gave up, pausing to rub at his forehead as he admitted defeat. “I told you it was the wrong bloody way!”

“Oh, don’t be such a wanker,” Harry grumbled. “These fucking corridors all look the same, okay? It’s just the same set of doors over and over, ‘s easy to lose your bearings.”

“Sounds like nothing but dirty excuses to me,” Louis taunted. _“I_ knew the right way, didn’t I? You shoulda just trusted my superior intellect.”

“Superior ego, more like,” Harry muttered, and Louis smirked.

“Fall in line, Styles, leave it to the pros.”

But, when they walked all the way back in the direction Louis had pinpointed, there was still no lift to be found.

“I really don’t think it’s this direction either, Louis,” Harry said wearily, after too long of frustrated looking.

Louis let out a noise of exasperation. “I just don’t understand,” he protested, shaking his head. “How could _both_ of us have been wrong?”

“Maybe you were right to begin with, but then we didn’t go back the right way?” Harry suggested weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then had the bad idea of looking at his watch. “Oh, look at that,” he intoned. “Officially five minutes late.”

“Well, I blame you,” Louis announced pettily, and then felt a smug flare at the way Harry’s expression turned from resigned to pissed off in a second.

“What? How is this _my_ fault?” he demanded, lifting an arm in an outraged gesture. “You told us to get off at this floor!”

“Well, you didn’t contradict me,” Louis countered, and Harry squinted at him, disbelieving.

“Well, _you’re_ the one who asked the front desk which floor it was on and then _didn’t listen to the answer!”_

Louis crossed his arms, enjoying the way he was the one winding Harry up for once. “I was the one who asked the question,” he rationalised, purposely irritating. “Why did I then have to be the one to listen to the answer? That’s hardly fair.”

Harry’s eyes bugged a little. “Because you were the one who _asked the question!”_ He exploded.

“Oh, now we’re just going round in circles.”

 _“Just — ?”_ Harry repeated, incensed, but then he seemed to clock that Louis was messing with him, and he took a deep breath. “Louis,” he continued, in a strained version of a calm voice. “I didn’t want to say anything but, you know what? There are twenty-five floors in this building. The event could be on _any one of them_ , and you did not bother to pay attention to what the receptionist was saying to you?”

Louis shifted a little, and the amusement was beginning to fade from the situation.

“Sometimes,” Harry continued, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just do not understand what the _hell_ is going through your head. Because it can’t all just be to fuck with me, surely. Are you honestly just that slow?”

Louis swallowed, and now there was a prickle of genuine discomfort blooming under the pointed irritation of Harry’s gaze.

“I mean,” Harry threw up his hand in exasperation. “What the hell were you _thinking?”_

Honestly? It sort of _was_ Harry’s fault, simply because he’d been the one Louis had been thinking about. The receptionist had opened her mouth to explain the whereabouts of the conference, but Harry had shifted beside Louis as he’d reached a hand into his stupidly tight jeans to wriggle his phone out, his arm brushing accidentally against Louis’. Then Louis’d been thinking about his stupidly tight jeans. And the way their arms had brushed together, and every single minor example of them touching that had happened so far, and the way it just seemed to get under his skin.

Then the receptionist had smiled at him, having finished their directions, and Harry had put his phone away and looked expectantly at Louis, and Louis had just walked towards the lift on autopilot, like an absolute fucking idiot instead of just asking the lady to repeat what she’d said. And now they were in this stupid situation, all because Louis couldn’t keep his thoughts in check.

Even now, the way Harry looked in his own clothes, tight and loose in all the right places, was a little too damn distracting. _God_ — why did he have to be so fucking attractive? Why couldn’t Louis have been competing for a job with a thumb?

“Fine,” Harry rolled his eyes, stepping away and running a hand through his hair when Louis didn’t respond. “Don’t answer me, whatever. Can we just pick a direction and keep walking?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed gruffly, following after Harry. “We must be walking around in circles or something, right? Like, no floor is actually this big.”

Harry didn’t reply, just kept walking a little ahead of Louis, and Louis took the hint.

By the time they’d found the lift again, gone back down to reception to awkwardly ask where the conference actually was, and then made it to the right floor, Dr. Edwards had already arrived.

“What happened to you two?” she hissed, looking suspicious as they shuffled in next to her. “How did I manage to get here first?”

Harry made no attempt at an answer, and Louis was left to shrug awkwardly and offer her an apologetic grimace, unable to really explain while the first speaker was already prattling on in his opening about how important the field was. He wasn’t even sure he’d really be inclined to explain what had happened even if he had been able to, to be honest. _(‘But why didn’t you pay attention to the receptionist?’ / ‘Have you_ looked _at Harry lately??’)_

Dr. Edwards gave them both searching looks, still uncharacteristically suspicious, but reluctantly turned back to face the front of the room.

After the first speaker there was a break, during which Dr. Edwards got up to go and talk to some other consultants she knew, her laugh echoing back through the room. Meanwhile, Harry ducked his head to inspect the sheet of information that had been handed out. Appropriately isolated from his colleagues, Louis turned to talk to the guy sitting next to him, who’d come up from Liverpool for the conference.

His name was Pete, and he seemed like a nice enough guy, with stocky, amiable features and an obnoxiously beige jumper. Louis was pleased to discover that their senses of humour seemed to match up — or at least, to as much of an extent as one could find out by chatting during such a menial event. They lapsed into polite silence again during the second speaker, and Louis even jotted down some notes on the ideas regarding heart surgery the woman was talking about, listening with amusement to Harry hum with interest beside him, but Pete was quick to start back up in the few minutes’ pause after that.

“Interesting stuff, right?” he prompted, rearranging himself in his seat so he could face Louis better. “I’ll be honest, I was sort of concerned I’d be dead bored, but it’s not half bad.”

“Yeah, she had some interesting stuff to say,” Louis agreed, and then couldn’t resist elbowing Harry in the ribs. “You could barely sit still, huh, Styles?”

Harry shrugged, apparently too busy absent-mindedly scratching at an eyebrow to pay Louis any real attention. Louis only tried harder.

“Could feel you practically buzzing with excitement right next to me,” he continued. “Most fun you’ve had in weeks, eh?”

Now, Harry levelled him with a look. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he said in lieu of an answer, and Louis snorted.

“Right, of course,” he rolled his eyes as Harry got up, turning back to Pete, who raised an eyebrow.

“You two don’t get on?” he asked.

“We’re sort of rivals, actually,” Louis said, giving the sentence all the conscious irony it deserved. “Also he’s a bit of twat, so.”

Pete laughed. “I know exactly the sort. He looks it too, with that stupid hair.”

And — okay, that was a bit uncalled for. Louis chose not to comment, though, only offering an insincere quirk of the mouth and changing the subject. Pete presumably meant well, after all.

He would have let it go, and all, had Pete not started up again during the break for lunch, as he and Louis piled their plates high with food.

"Fuck, I didn’t even notice his shirt before," Pete muttered, nudging Louis' arm with his own and gesturing to Harry. “I mean, is he trying to be seen from space? He’s got to have, like, stolen that from his nan, or something. Or like a clown, aha.”

Louis frowned. He was beginning to rethink his original character assessment.

"Um. What's your point?" he asked, a little awkwardly — defending Harry wasn’t something he'd ever had to do before, nor was it typically high on his priorities, but.

“That it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen?" Pete said, with a laugh. "I mean, you can't deny it. And it’s, like, girly. It’s an embarrassment."

Louis glanced at Harry, and saw with a horrible stomach jolt that the glazed way he was assessing the bowl of bread suggested he could hear them perfectly well. This situation was quickly escalating the awkward scale, and Louis felt fully trapped in the middle of it.

"Come on," he tried, turning back to Pete with a twist to his mouth. "None of that."

"What?" Pete was still grinning at him, although now a little confused. "I thought you couldn't stand the guy?"

"Not — I — well..." Louis floundered, painfully aware of Harry listening in. "It's not quite that...you know," he broke off, awkwardly. "But...I mean, regardless. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make comments like that."

"Oh, damn," Pete said, holding up his hands as he shook his head with a chuckle. "I didn't know you secretly loved the guy, alright. Guess I'll take my jokes elsewhere."

He picked up his plate, still shaking his head to himself, and went off to join some of his own colleagues. Louis was left standing awkwardly in front of the scotch eggs, Harry still motionless a little bit down the line.

Without really knowing why, Louis walked that little bit further until they were standing next to each other, and set his plate down on the surface. With little else to do, he started spooning salad on his plate, although he wanted none of it. The silence stretched out between them for several long seconds, until —

"You didn't have to," Harry said, a little gruff and without looking up. Louis faltered a little in his grip of the spoon.

"I know," he conceded, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "But. He was a bit of a prick, wasn't he? No skin off my nose."

"Yeah, but..." Harry hesitated for a long, pregnant moment, and then swallowed. "Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in the interest of giving credit, and also I guess to defend the possibilities of any medical mistakes lol, I tend to lift medical jargon / cases etc from [this site](http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/CongenitalHeartDefects/CongenitalHeartDefectsToolsResources/Congenital-Heart-Defects-Personal-Stories_UCM_316755_Article.jsp#.WeDxHWhSxEb). There may be some point for doctors making different calls in America to here, but I don't really know enough to even begin to approach that. But, hey. It's a fanfiction! Hope there aren't any cardiologists reading this in horror. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

“Well, Katherine’s pacemaker will be replaced no problem, and she’ll be out of here without a single strand of her ruby-red hair harmed,” Louis waved a hand. “All fine, case closed, next patient.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? You think there’ll be a problem with the procedure?”

“No, of course not,” Harry replied, still frowning. “Just...have you actually spoken to Katherine at all?”

Louis blinked, a little thrown. “Uh...maybe? I guess? Why?”

“‘Cause Katherine has blonde hair, Louis. Not red.”

“Oh. Um. Seriously? I could have sworn she had, like, reddish hair. Maybe it was just strawberry blonde…” Louis paused, before giving in. “Okay, so I don’t think I have actually spoken to her, but I definitely had a word with her dad when he first came in.”

He hesitated again, uncomfortable with the way Harry was scrutinising him. 

“I mean, does it matter?”

“She’s nine years old, Louis,” Harry sighed, redundantly, and Louis immediately felt a flash of irritation.

“I know how old she is,” he grumbled. “I’m one of her doctors.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Harry allowed, but his eyes were still large and earnest. “But I’m also not sure that you actually  _ know _ that. I mean — nine years old! She’s been fighting her heart problems since she was only three weeks and… can you even imagine how scary that must be? And now she’s had to move to a big new hospital where she isn’t familiar with the staff, where there aren’t any familiar faces and the people who are going to be slicing her open for years to come are complete strangers, and you don’t even take the time to  _ talk _ to her?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Harry, it’s a minor issue with her pacemaker!” Louis threw up his arms. “She’s not dying! Besides, I’m sure you and Dr. Edwards made a big ol’ fuss, and Jade offered to plait her hair, or whatever. I doubt she even realised there was another person behind the scenes reviewing her chart — which, for the record, I can do because it’s such a simple problem that there was no need to personally inspect her. You need to chill out.”

Harry still shook his head, like a fucking martyr. “I just don’t think it’s very good of you,” he settled on, shrugging his shoulders. “I think you forget, sometimes, that there are people — children — behind the stats.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Louis muttered, as Harry turned to pick up his things and leave. “Sometimes I cannot believe you are for real, Jesus.” 

He was still grumbling to himself, filling in the last of Katherine’s paperwork, when his phone chimed with an alarm he didn’t remember setting.

_ DONT MISS THE TALENT SHOW U DICK — JADE XX _

Rolling his eyes, Louis put his phone back in his pocket with an unwilling quirk of the mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure when Jade had got to his phone, but he had to give her credit for the fact that he had indeed forgotten the show was due to start in ten minutes. 

Niall was still finishing rigging up the microphone when Louis made it to the empty wing the nurses had managed to wrangle for the talent show, but there were already a tonne of kids sitting expectantly, giggling amongst themselves or blinking up at their accompanying parent. Immediately, Louis’ eyes were drawn to where Harry was sitting and smiling all big at a little girl whose lack of hair suggested she was going through chemo. Louis felt like his heart was in his throat just at the sight. 

“Gonna be offering any talents then, Lou?” Jesy asked from beside him, nudging him in the side. “Reprise the role of Danny Zuko?”

“I think my Greased-Lightning days are over, I’m afraid,” Louis chuckled. “But I hear you’re gonna be bringing it with the accents?”

“Oh yeah,” Jesy confirmed, smirking. “Big time. Shall we go sit? Harry’s over there.”

“Or we could…not,” Louis tried weakly, but Jesy was already tugging him along. 

“Hey,” she said with a bright smile once they reached Harry and sat down, fixing her attention on the little girl. “Emily, right? How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” Emily reported with a cheeky grin, blinking up at Jesy. “I like your hair.”

“Ah, thank you!” Jesy beamed, reaching up with a hand to pat at it. “I love the colour of your eyes. They’re gorgeous.”

Emily giggled, swinging her legs back and forth. “Thanks. You should know I like Dr. Styles’ hair more, though.”

Jesy gasped. “I’m wounded! His ratty old locks over mine?”

“Uncalled for,” Harry protested, mouth twitching into a smile. “Emily just has very good perception.”

Emily grinned wider and pressed her palms to her cheeks, pinkening slightly, but then seemed to change her mind and instead lifted one hand up for a high-five, which Harry returned with gentle gusto. 

“Dr. Styles thinks I have ‘panache’,” Emily confided in the others once they’d lowered their hands, excited. “He says my bracelets are stylish.”

“A fact I’m sure you two can confirm,” Harry prompted. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such lovely colours all in one place.”

“Oh for sure,” Louis agreed, smirking. “And right up Harry’s street, I might add.”

“No question about it,” Harry verified without missing a beat. “I do love a rainbow.”

Jade took that moment to tap the microphone, producing a high whine that made several of the children yelp and clutch their ears.

“Oops!” she chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that, pets. Um...right! Welcome to the talent show! We’ve got a whole bunch of great acts lined up, so get ready to be impressed!”

The talent show proceeded to go down in much the same way one might expect: very cute, but not all that impressive. Jesy’s accents and Dr. Edwards’ goat impression were both crowd-favourites, and Jade gave a delightful rendition of burping the alphabet, to great mirth, but there were only so many times you could listen to 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' without getting bored stiff.

Louis’ personal highlights, though, included one girl unexpectedly killing it on the harmonica, and a little boy’s smooth delivery of terrible jokes.  _ (Did you see the constipation film? [wink] It hasn’t come out yet. Have you heard about the guy who had his left side cut off? Well....he’s all right now.) _

Harry also appeared to have enjoyed the boy’s stand up, if his great donkey laughter was anything to go by, and Louis hadn’t been able to help but peer over at him several times during the performance, taking in the way his face dimpled excessively and his hand slapped against his knee.  _ (Goddamn beautiful people.) _

Things took an interesting turn when Niall got up on stage with his guitar, grinning good-naturedly when a couple of the kids whooped and clapped, and gave a cute, slightly rough rendition of ‘Thomas O’Malley Cat’ from _The Aristocats,_ ridiculous mouth trumpeting included. That was all fine and good, endearing and entertaining, very Niall... but then the sod had to turn his attention to Harry, eyes twinkling. 

“Enough of me,” he decided. “Bet you lot didn’t know Dr. Styles could sing, huh?” 

(There were a few over-dramatic gasps and head’s turning to look, and Louis wondered slightly petulantly when everyone in this freaking hospital learned who Harry was.)

“Niall,” Harry warned, even as his mouth clearly fought against a smile. “I don’t remember signing up for anything.”

“And a crying shame that is too, mate,” Niall returned, winking. “C’mon up, then, give us a tune.”

“I…” Harry began, but Emily spoke up before he could get any further. 

“Oh,  _ please, _ Dr. Styles,” she begged, turning to blink huge doe eyes at him. “Please sing! Sing something for me!” 

“Oh, alright,” Harry conceded with a smile, clearly not minding all one bit. “For you, huh?” 

“Yes!” Emily confirmed, excited. “You can dedicate it to me. It’ll be romantic.”

_ “Oh my God,”  _ Dr. Edwards whispered from somewhere across from the room.  _ “She’s adorable.” _

Harry was laughing, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll see if I can rustle anything up,” he allowed. 

Louis narrowed his eyes as Harry made a show of standing and rolling up his sleeves, still laughing a little and shooting finger guns at a couple other patients. Niall grinned and clapped as Harry made his way over, and Louis had to once again reflect on the misfortune of having all his friends like Harry so much. Also — the fact that Harry could apparently  _ sing?  _ This was irritating to learn. As were most things Louis learnt about Harry, to be honest. 

“What song are you singing for us then, Dr. Styles?” Niall asked, giving his guitar a little strum. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

Harry paused and stroked his chin. “Hmm,” he mused. “You know what, I think I’m alright. Pass the mic?”

Niall did, and Harry took his place of centre stage, letting his shoulders roll back and his chin tilt up until he oozed confidence. Then he smirked, bringing the microphone to his lips.

“This little number,” he said in an over-the-top low, gravelly voice, eyes shining with humour, “Goes out to my friend Emily over there.”

Jesy snorted into her hand as Emily blushed and beamed. Louis was reluctantly amused. But then Harry started to sing.

_ “Isn’t she lovely?”  _ he crooned.  _ “Isn’t she won-der-ful?” _

And Louis’ jaw dropped without his permission. Fuck...Harry could actually _sing_. Admittedly, it wasn’t like it was the _most_ staggering vocals Louis had ever heard — no, he’d done karaoke with the girls enough times to blow his standards sky-high — but there was this tone to his voice, a slight grating edge that, coupled with the little smug curve of Harry’s lips, made the bottom of Louis’ stomach just drop away. 

It was just...fuck, it was just really fucking attractive. 

Louis swallowed heavily, watching the way Harry’s sharp jaw moved as he sang the words, the way his fingers gripped the microphone. There were a lot of hazy, confusing images that the sight of Harry on stage was bringing to mind. 

But God — abort! Abort! Bad, bad thoughts...especially bad thoughts when sitting surrounded by  _ children,  _ Jesus Christ. Louis wished he could give himself a firm shake, remind himself of where he was and who...Harry was. Fuck. 

Fortuitously, Harry chose that moment to finish singing, lowering the microphone and letting his face break out into a grin as Jade and Dr. Edwards whooped loudly. Emily was giggling like mad, her legs swinging back and forth with a lack of coordination that suggested she was barely able to control them. Harry turned and allowed Niall to engage him in a fistbump, chuckling. 

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said then, in a mimicry of Elvis Presley, and — yep. Louis was back to thinking he was annoying.

God, what a prat. 

 

***

 

“We have two new patients,” Dr. Edwards reported. “One of them is fourteen years old. His name is Joshua, and he will be the concern of the two of you. His symptoms are headaches, shortness of breath, and sharp chest pains. What are your immediate thoughts?” 

“Heart rhythm disorder?” Louis suggested. “Possibly an atrial flutter?”

“Could also be iron deficiency, though I doubt it,” Harry added. “Pulmonary edema would match the symptoms but, again, unlikely. Heart rhythm disorder is the chief theory, I’d say.”

“Pretty much,” Dr. Edwards confirmed. “I want you to go check him out, run some tests, you know the drill. I trust your instincts with this one, okay?” 

Harry and Louis both nodded, and Dr. Edwards looked satisfied. 

“Great, then I’ll leave the two of you to it, ‘cause I’ve got to sort out our other new patient: ten-year-old Eloise,” she said, and packed up her stuff before leaving with a quick, “No funny business, okay?”

Left alone, Louis turned to review Joshua’s chart, tapping his fingers together absentmindedly. They would need to schedule some routine examinations obviously, see what was causing the heart murmur and scan to make sure there was nothing deeper and more concerning going on, and he also needed to check some things with lab that Jade had asked him to handle, and was Harry  _ staring at him,  _ or…?

Angling his head to the side, Louis confirmed that Harry was indeed staring at him with his creepy, lightbulb eyes. Louis raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” 

“Are you gonna talk to this one?” Harry asked, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow right back.

Immediately huffing out a sigh, Louis swivelled in his chair to start putting his stuff away. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled. “Do you have nothing else to do to pass the time, or something?”

“You can’t deny that Joshua’s probably freaked!” Harry argued, standing up when Louis did. “He’s only fourteen and his heart starts fucking up, apparently out of nowhere! And you’re not even gonna — ”

“Of course I’m gonna bloody speak to him,” Louis snapped, jabbing a hand in Harry’s chest so he’d move out of the way. “I’ve gotta work out what’s wrong with him, don’t I?”

“That’s not the same!” Harry protested, only taking half a step back and instead crossing his arms stubbornly. “Are you going to give him any sense of emotional support at all? Try and bond with him or reassure him, or — ”

“I’m his  _ doctor,  _ Harry, not his fucking dad!” Louis cried, agitated despite himself. “There are boundaries for a reason! Odds are he’s gonna be in and out of this place in a blink of an eye, and there’s no point in me wasting my time!” 

“How can you say that when — ”

“Look,” Louis made an effort to calm down, his heart already beating too fast. “I don’t have the time for this stupid fight right now, okay? I got a lot of shit to do and I also, most importantly, don’t give a fuck about whatever it is you’re about to say. Bye, Harry.”

With that, he roughly pushed past Harry and out of the door, and had to take a moment to put himself back together. From inside the room came the sound of Harry huffing stupidly, and Louis seized the opportunity to make himself smirk at how ridiculous Harry was, rather than face his potential other emotions. 

“What’s so funny?” Zayn asked as Louis gave him the files about a minute later. Louis raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Just one of those days, isn’t it?” he said lightly. Zayn scoffed.

“Yeah, well I’m bloody bricking it, aren’t I?” 

“What?” Louis blinked, immediately intrigued. “Why?”

“I’m gonna do it today,” Zayn said, pulling his mouth into a determined line. “I’m fucking tired of mooning around here like a preteen girl, so I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna hit on Liam.”

_ “No!”  _ Louis gushed, leaning forward to grin at him. “You actually? Holy shit, mate, this is a big step.”

“Yeah, don’t I bloody well know it. But I don’t have a choice. I’ve decided. Today’s the day.”

“When?”

“Jesy said she texted Leigh-Anne to come meet her and that maybe they can grab lunch in the canteen before her and Liam’s shift. I figure Liam’ll probably tag along, and I can chat him up a bit when he passes front desk, just test the waters. I don’t know,” he paused. “Is it stupid?”

“No, no!” Louis assured him, thinking this might be the best moment of his career so far. “Do it, man, do it. What are you gonna say to him?”

Zayn was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. “I dunno,” he grunted. “Was just gonna see what I come up with.”

“I’m sure you’ll knock ‘im dead,” Louis said, grinning from ear to ear as he lightly punched Zayn on the shoulder. In reality? He wasn’t so sure. Zayn was pretty much drop-dead gorgeous, and that tended to be the extent of his moves; Liam had yet to react to that particular ace, so Louis was hesitant (read: ready to laugh his arse off) at what Zayn might pull out of the bag now. 

“Piss off,” Zayn muttered. “I know you’re just laughing at me.”

“Not at  _ all,” _ Louis insisted, fighting to keep his expression straight. “Zayn. Buddy. I have the utmost faith in your wooing skills. Would you call it wooing? I would.”

Zayn levelled him with an unamused look. “Fuck off, Lou.”

“Maybe leave the swears behind,” Louis advised, mouth twitching. “Chocolates, though! Bring all the chocolates. Or — Liam’s more of a gym kind of man, isn’t he? How about a lovely bouquet of flowers. A timeless classic.”

“Fuck  _ off,”  _ Zayn shoved at him so he rebounded a little off the desk, but Louis didn’t miss the way he had to bite down on a smile.

“Ha!” he yelled, gleeful. “Was that a smile I see? You’ll be wanting to flash those teeth at loverboy, I’m sure. Nothing like a bit of a grin to make a man weak at the knees.”

“I hate you,” Zayn complained. “I want you to know the next time you have a crush on someone I’m gonna give you so much shit for it.”

“Pssh,” Louis waved a hand in the air. “Like that’s gonna happen. Married to the ocean, me. Ah — tis a cruel mistress, but carries my heart all the same.” 

“Have you ever actually  _ been _ on a boat?”

“Course I’ve been on a boat. What kind of pirate do you take me for? Taken the ferry to France, like, twice.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow.

“Arrr,” Louis said, making a hook with his finger. Zayn let out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway,” Louis continued, still laughing a little at his own joking. “When will Romeo be here? There’s no way I’m missing this.”

Zayn looked a little alarmed at the idea. “What? No you’re not. Go away.”

“Zaynnn,” Louis pouted. “You’re not actually gonna let me miss this?”

“Damn fucking right I’m gonna let you miss this,” Zayn replied immediately, wrinkling his nose at the idea of Louis being there. “You’d ruin it.”

“I would not!”

“Alright then, you’d break a rib laughing, and then Liam would be too distracted saving your sorry arse to react to my flirting.”

“Gosh, he’s so  _ manly,” _ Louis sighed, resting his head in his hands and revelling in the irrational jealous tightening of Zayn’s mouth. “Doesn’t he just make you  _ swoon?” _

“I hate you more than anyone else in the world.”

Louis laughed, straightening up and checking his watch. “Ah, shit, I should actually get to work. I expect a detailed play-by-play of you trying to sweep Liam off his feet, on my desk, tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

***

 

“So, the stethoscope has confirmed that your son has a heart murmur,” Louis was relaying to Joshua’s mother. “We’ll now be running some tests to look into it, see how serious the situation is. I’m sure there’s no need to worry.”

“Are you sure?” Joshua’s mother — Hanna — fretted. “It sounds like something to worry about.”

Louis gave her a polite smile. “You let us do the worrying,” he told her. “For now, I need you and Joshua to stay calm. Okay?”

Hanna opened her mouth to no doubt protest further, her eyebrows pinched together in worry, but Louis put out a hand to stop her before she could continue.

“Look, there’s no point getting into a state at this stage,” he said firmly. “We’ll handle it.”

She nodded a little shakily, and Louis took the opportunity to turn and leave, nodding to Joshua, before she could think of something else to say. A few seconds later, Harry followed suit after presumably giving both Joshua and his mother a great big hug, or something. His expression, however, was unamused. 

“Louis,” he began, and Louis groaned loudly.

“Oh my God, Styles,” he complained. “Please give it a fucking rest.”

“Did you  _ see  _ yourself in there?” Harry demanded, ignoring him. “You were curt enough to Mrs. Solarin, who’s just a frightened mother, you know? Let alone to  _ Joshua,  _ who you barely even glanced at!”

“He was fine!” Louis argued. “His mother was the only one freaking out; Joshua was probably just bored.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Harry pointed out viciously, taking a step closer to narrow his eyes at Louis. “How can you know what he’s feeling when you didn’t speak to him at all, besides warning him about the stethoscope? For all you know he’s bloody terrified inside! For all — ”

“Well that’s got nothing to do with me!” Louis snapped, turning to storm down the corridor and relishing the way Harry scuttled to angrily keep up with him. “If he is terrified, that’s got  _ nothing  _ to do with me, because I’m concerned with his physical health. His mum’s right there to deal with any emotional side-effects and — ”

“We’re supposed to  _ care  _ for the children!” Harry said harshly. “And that includes emotional state, and you  _ know  _ that. The most important thing is — ”

“The most important thing!” Louis cried, rolling his eyes. “The most important thing is that we treat Joshua’s  _ heart problem _ , and if he was crying then sure, yeah, I’d comfort the kid. But he  _ wasn’t,  _ so I don’t see the bloody issue!”

Harry grabbed Louis’ arm suddenly, so they were both pulled to a halt in the middle of the corridor. “I’d say the issue is pretty fucking clear,” he insisted, nostrils flaring. “And that’s your lack of empathy for children, despite the fact that you’re currently working as a  _ paediatrician.” _

“Lack of  _ empathy?” _ Louis repeated, and for a moment his vision was swimming, his stomach clenching as though reeling from a punch. And then the fury came rushing in. “You don’t know  _ shit  _ about me, Harry,” he emphasised, voice slipping into deadly tones. “And you should know that empathy isn’t always a good thing.”

Harry just didn’t seem to be getting it, though, still entreating him with those stupid fucking eyes. “Louis, you can’t possibly hope to work with children if you can’t — ”

“You know I really think you forget who you’re talking to,  _ mate,” _ Louis continued, giving Harry a little shove. “Because last I checked? We were in competition for a job. So maybe you should keep your little tips for yourself, huh?”

And for some reason, that seemed to stop Harry short. His mouth moved a little, wordlessly, as his eyes widened and he took a step back, seemingly without intention. Then he swallowed, and nodded.

“Right,” he settled on, slightly hoarse. “Guess I forgot everything had to be about the job.”

Louis sighed, the fight draining out of him as he roughly pushed a hand through his hair. “Of course it’s about the job,” he muttered. “But that’s not the point. I just think you should mind your own business.”

Harry didn’t say anything else, and Louis took the opportunity to turn and keep walking. Harry’s words had shaken him more than he’d like to admit, and what was worse he even felt slightly guilty. Which was  _ stupid _ but...persistent. 

“Oops! Sorry, Doctor, excuse me,” a nurse was apologising after practically colliding with Louis, and he blinked to actually take in his surroundings.

“No, um, my fault,” he assured her vaguely. “Wasn’t concentrating.”

She walked on, carrying a precariously-laden tray of empty yoghurt cartons, as Louis blinked at where he’d ended up: the children’s play area. 

Despite the sight of nasal cannulas and casts making swift reminders of where the room was, it was a pleasant area: bright and buzzing with noise. There were lightsaber noises from kids playing at _Star Wars,_ mumblings of clapping games, and scattered puzzle pieces lying in so many random places that Niall was always joking he found them behind his ears when in the shower. Not to mention those tables where kids moved the multicoloured beads along the curvy wire — Louis would never admit it, but he always had the urge to play with those things. 

In one corner of the room, near the other door and a little ways away from any of the other children, was a little girl and a bunch of playmobils. Louis wasn’t sure what her name was — she wasn’t part of the cardiology department — but she had the sweetest little frown on her face as she painstakingly placed the playmobils in their positions. 

Without really being able to explain why, except for perhaps the echo of Harry’s words in his subconscious, Louis found himself approaching her. 

“What’s the scene?” he asked, squatting down to get a better look at the plastic figures. She glanced up, face still scrunched up in concentration. 

“It’s a dinner party.” 

“Oh?” Louis liked hearing about children’s games; his sisters’ had always managed to be wildly entertaining. “For what?”

“Well,” she lifted up one of the dolls. “Everyone thinks it’s just because she likes putting on dinner parties, but she just wants them to think that. Actually it’s  _ not _ .”

“No?” Louis grinned, sitting down properly on the floor in front of her. His bad mood was fast draining away. “Why then? What’s her secret?”

She put a finger to her lips, unable to quite suppress a smile. “It’s a mystery.”

“A mystery!” Louis pouted, secretly delighted. “But what if I want to know?”

“You can’t know until the end!” 

“Not even if I asked really,  _ really  _ nicely?”

“Well…” she paused, considering it. “I suppose it’s okay if you know. Just not any of the guests.”

“I swear I won’t tell any of them,” Louis promised, and was rewarded with the sort of unamused look children sometimes give when they want to remind you that they know the toys aren’t  _ actually  _ real. Louis just grinned at her. 

“It’s a murder mystery,” she explained after a moment. “But she’s not the killer. That would be too obvious.”

“Right,” Louis agreed, wildly endeared. “So who is?”

“Well then everyone thinks its the postman. He’s mad because he’s not invited, so he would have a motive. Plus they find stamps by one of the murders. But then  _ he  _ dies, and also it turns out he didn’t realise that she was throwing the dinner party all along because she needed a distraction from how bad she fancied him. It’s sad.”

“Yeah,” Louis frowned. “You don’t want a happier ending?”

“Well that’s not the ending,” she protested, and replaced the playmobil figure she was holding with another. “This one is the real killer. He was jealous because he knew the lady fancied the postman, and he wanted all her money for himself. So he killed some of the guests as well as the postman. But they realise it’s him because they find the same sort of stamps in his wallet. It’s all really dramatic.”

Louis nodded seriously. “I’ll bet. That’s a good story, you know.”

She looked suddenly embarrassed, ducking her head. “Thanks.”

Louis studied her for a moment, her sickly complexion, thin wrists and IV marks. He wondered why she was in the hospital, but then shied away from the thought. 

“What’s your name?” he asked after a pause.

“Nirmala.” 

“I’m Dr. Tomlinson. What do you want to do when you grow up, Nirmala?”

Louis had used to quite enjoy asking children what they wanted to be when they grew up. He’d tended not to with teenagers, as the question bore a lot more stress, but children held the world in their palms, so their answers were unbothered and quietly wonderful. By far his favourite response had to be that of the four year old girl who’d once confessed she aspired to be a wellington boot. Her voice had been quite serious as she’d told him, rather longingly, 

_ “You’d spend all day going squelch-squelch in the mud.” _

_ “I see,” Louis had said.  _

Nirmala blinked at the question. “I don’t know. Mummy says I’d make a great lawyer cause I argue too much.”

Louis smiled. “Well, I think you’d make a great writer, if you wanted.”

She paused, frowning as she thought about it. “No,” she said eventually. “Most people don’t get any money from writing.”

Louis had to laugh at that. “Well, if that’s what you’re interested in,” he conceded. “Don’t let that stop you, though.”

“Maybe I could get rich first and then write,” Nirmala suggested, grinning. 

“Yeah, there’s a plan,” Louis agreed. “So how far along are the characters in the story? Do you think I could help?”

Nirmala’s eyes brightened even more. “Sure!” 

She hurried to explain the current scene, gesturing intensely with her hands and giving detailed backstory, to Louis’ great endearment. He wasn’t sure how long they played for, Nirmala giggling in delight every time he made a character say something funny, but at some point he became aware of someone in his peripheral vision, and looked up. It was Harry, leaning against the doorway with this tiny stupid smile on his face, and Louis felt himself flushing against his will. 

“Hey, um,” he said, turning back to Nirmala. “I should really be getting back to work.”

“Oh,” she frowned, surprised and disappointed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologised, grimacing. “But hey, I’ll see if I can see you around, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, brighter. “See you.”

Louis offered her a fist-bump, which she returned, and then he awkwardly scuttled up, walking towards Harry’s stupid smug face and glaring buckets. 

“She’s not our patient!” he hissed upon passing Harry. “It’s not the same!” 

Harry laughed and clapped him on the back. “Yeah, okay, Louis,” he said. 

  
  


***

 

Louis had actually managed to forget about Zayn’s wooing plans in the course of his day. He’d been distracted by all manner of awkwardness with Harry, and talking to Nirmala, which meant he was completely taken aback walking into the canteen, a little late for lunch, to see Liam and Leigh-Anne sitting at a table in the fast-emptying hall. Liam had his head in his hands, and Louis would have been concerned had Leigh-Anne not looked like she was seriously trying not to laugh as she comforted him. 

“You alright Liam?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he approached with his lunch in hand. Liam’s head shot up, taking him by surprise. 

“Louis!” Liam gasped, like a drowning man, and Louis jolted as he grabbed his shirt. “Louis, you gotta help me!”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis skidded a little, shooting Leigh-Anne a look as he managed to one-handedly pry Liam’s fingers from his shirt. “What’s going on with you, Payno? Realised you’ve run out of hands to tattoo?”

Liam just groaned, and Louis took the opportunity to sit down next to him, as Leigh-Anne snorted. 

“How did you know?” Liam asked, pathetically. “I need to just. How did you know?”

“Know what?” Louis frowned, taking a bite out of the questionable sausage they were serving. 

Liam stared at the sausage in horror. “That...that...oh, God,” his face crumpled. “I think I might be  _ gay.” _

Louis choked on the sausage. “You what?” he wheezed, and then he remembered. 

Jesus, what the fuck had Zayn done to this poor boy? His eyes were wild, his nostrils flared, a cold sweat on his brow, and Louis couldn’t help but fall into howls of laughter. 

“Louis!” Liam protested, aghast. “I’m being serious!” 

“Holy shit!” Louis cackled. “I have no doubt you’re being serious, Liam, trust me!”

In his mind’s eye, he could clear as day imagine Zayn doing an erratic and poorly-choreographed victory dance, and  _ holy shit.  _ Louis was going to have to congratulate him on his game — this was a full-on gay panic! All because of...what? A five minute conversation?

“Louis,” Liam repeated, shooting uncomfortable glances around the room. “Can you not laugh so loud?”

“Honestly, Liam,” Leigh-Anne rolled her eyes. “Quit being so melodramatic. Anyway, you said you like girls.”

“But I think I like  _ guys.” _

“You know that’s a thing, right?” she shook her head, begrudgingly fond. “It’s called being bi, you donut.”

Liam didn’t look convinced. “But...but…”

“So you like a little dick on the side,” Louis waved a careless hand in the air, having eventually stopped laughing. “So what? More prospects for you, mate.” He paused, couldn’t quite help the smug smile that broke out on his face. “I wanna know what made you realise.”

Liam swallowed. “Uh.”

“C’mon, be straight — ha — with me. Do I have to give my arse a stern talking to?”

Liam finally looked a little less panicked, his facial expression switching to mild disgust. “Ew, no, Lou, what the fuck. It — ” but then he paused, looking uncomfortable. “Never mind.”

“No!” Louis grinned widely, leaning forward. “What? What is it?”

Liam avoided his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh it  _ does,  _ Payno. It does! Tell me.” 

“Lou—”

“You know he’s not gonna give up, Liam.” Leigh-Anne said, still amused. Liam looked like a cornered animal, but sighed. 

“I think I might have a crush on someone. A guy.” 

Louis grinned at him, faintly aware of the slightly terrifying expression on his own face.  _ “Who?”  _

“I’m not telling you!” 

“Liam. Come on: who.” 

“I’m not going to tell you!” Liam insisted, looking increasingly flustered. Louis turned to Leigh-Anne.

“Leigh, you’ll tell me won’t you?” he beseeched, knowing full-well she wouldn’t. It had the desired effect, with Liam panicking.

“She won’t!” he yelped, turning round to glare at her. “You won’t — will you? Leigh-Anne— ”

“Christ’s sake, Liam,” she rolled her eyes, placing a token hand on his shoulder. “How long have you known me? I’m not gonna tell Louis if you don’t want me to. Not that that doesn’t mean  _ you  _ should tell him, and stop acting like such a fucking drama queen.”

Liam seemed to come back into himself. “Right,” he agreed, in a pointedly deeper tone of voice. “Yes. Um.”

Louis raised an expectant eyebrow. Liam stared at him for a moment, in a manner not dissimilar to staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” he said at length. “Our shift’s about to start.”

“What?” Louis scoffed, turning round to look at the clock on the wall. “It is  _ not —  _ oh. Touché.”

By the time he’d turned back around, Liam was already out of the chair and tugging a begrudging Leigh-Anne out of hers. 

“Nice chat, Louis!” he called over his shoulder, body language screaming relief at getting away.

“I’ll get it out of you eventually!” Louis shouted back, waving a threatening fork at Liam’s retreating figure. 

Honestly, what the hell had Zayn even done?

  
  


***

 

“So I thought you said the angina was stable,” Louis said, shaking salt onto his dodgy-looking pasta. “How come she needs a PCI?”

“Well,” Dr. Edwards swallowed her mouthful of chips. “We tried optimal medical therapy, but her symptoms were persistent.”

(“Pez, would you pass the ketchup?”)

“And,” she continued, passing it, “she has a history of ischaemia, so we couldn’t risk leaving it.”

“Makes sense,” Harry nodded, peeling the lid off a shabby-looking container of salad dressing he’d pulled out of nowhere and drizzling some over his plate. “So do you need one of us to assist you with the procedure?”

“I’m not really sure yet,” Dr. Edwards shrugged. “But quite probably.”

“Well, you let us know,” Louis replied vaguely, not moving his gaze from where Harry was now using a knife to get the last of the oil out of the container. 

Dr. Edwards turned to ask Jade something, and Louis took the opportunity to clear his throat.

“Harold,” he began, and Harry glanced up. “Did you or did you not bring your own salad dressing in from home?” 

Harry’s nose was pushed up as he broke into a sheepish little grin. “I may have,” he admitted. “But the stuff they offer here is gross. It ruins the salad!”

“Salad is already ruined!” Louis argued back, and then relaxed into his chair, shaking his head dramatically. “Honestly, you’re one heck of a weirdo, mate.”

Harry laughed a little, eyes flicking down to the table as his grin summoned two craterous dimples. “I also brought seeds,” he revealed, gesturing to a baggie of seeds ready to be sprinkled atop the salad. “You know, as the cherry on top.”

Louis groaned theatrically, but couldn’t stop the way his eyes crinkled as he broke into his own begrudging laugh. “Not sure how to respond to that, to tell the truth.”

Harry just quirked an eyebrow and forked some salad into his mouth, still fighting a smile. Further down the table, Jade’s arm accidentally caught the salt shaker and she swore as some spilled out, jolting Louis’ attention away from Harry. 

And — oh. That had been kind of, um, weird? The ease of the laughter, the teasing, the way Louis’ attention had dawdled over the brightness of Harry’s laugh and the slight flush of his cheeks. The way Louis’ stomach had swooped, a little, to catch Harry smiling that way at him had been sort of… Oh, God. 

OH, GOD.  _ Fuck.  _ Stupid — fucking — attractive rival, damn competition and...no, no,  _ no _ . 

“Shit, I think I’m gonna be late for my Walk-In Centre shift?” Harry was saying, looking at his watch. “I always forget about them, damn. I better go.”

Louis barely heard him, staring determinedly at the table top as panic swirled through his gut. He was practically oblivious to Harry gathering all his stuff and hurrying off, could not for the life of him say why Dr. Edwards also stood up or where she was going, and only paid Jade any notice when she began waving her fork in front of his face.

“Uh,” he blinked, recovering some of his awareness and swallowing. “What?”

“Jesus, you fall asleep or something, Tommo?” she asked, amused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, I’m…sorry. Did you say something?”

Jade raised an eyebrow, and then laughed. “Yeah, actually. Was just saying I think it’s nice how you and Harry have sort of risen above the competition? I dunno when it happened, guess I wasn’t paying attention, but that right there? Good on you, mate.”

Louis’ mouth was full of sand. There was cement in his belly. “Um,” he croaked. “What do you mean?”

Jade gave him a weird look. “I dunno,” she shrugged, laughing a little. “Just. You guys all grinning at each other? ‘S nice. I like that you guys can be friends, despite the situation.”

“Well,” Louis laughed slightly, hearing the nasty bitter tone and doing nothing to combat it. “We’re not. Sorry to break it to you, Jade, but we’re not friends.”

“Oh,” Jade blinked, obviously taken aback. “Um.”

“We’re fighting each other for the same  _ job,” _ Louis told her, harshly. “I may not be awful to the guy all the time, but we’re not…  _ friends _ . Okay?”

“Whoa,” Jade raised both eyebrows, tilting her head a little. “Sure. My mistake, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, deflating a little. There was an immediate surge of guilt at having snapped at her, and he rubbed a sheepish hand at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m gonna — yeah.”

He stood up, taking his tray in hand, and awkwardly nodded, before leaving Jade alone and baffled at the table.

He’d completely overreacted, obviously, and taken his uncertainty out on Jade like a top grade dick, but…the fact was, Louis couldn’t afford to like Harry. He couldn’t afford to be attracted to him, _ obviously,  _ but that was sort of…difficult to control. So if he was going to be attracted to him — in a LIMITED WAY, of course, no fantasies allowed and ALWAYS suppress where possible — if he was going to be attracted to him, then there was no way (NO WAY) that he could afford to also like him. God, what a disaster.

The facts were, only one of them was getting this job. This was a temporary working situation, and if Louis got this job he didn’t want to feel bad that Harry didn’t get it. He wanted to feel  _ proud.  _ And if he didn’t get the job then…he didn’t want to have to somehow be happy for Harry too. 

In both situations, he didn’t want to have made a new good friend or — or  _ whatever else —  _ only to suddenly have one of them move away in search of a new job.

So he couldn’t allow himself to like Harry. It was just that simple. 

The problem was…no one had told Harry that. Louis hadn’t been wrong when he’d told Jade that the two of them weren’t friends, there was no question about that, but they weren’t being overly hostile to each other anymore. 

And Harry kept...being nice. Louis had to admit, they’d had a couple nice moments, or whatever, but what happened to constantly being at each other’s throats? Louis missed that. Missed the sweet, simplicity of constant bickering. Most of all, he hated the tell-tale surge of positive feeling his stomach kept threatening to unleash whenever Harry offered him a greeting smile, or leant him a pen, or laughed at something he said. So, enforcing the boundaries was left up to him.

 

***

 

“Look, is something up?” Harry asked eventually, grumpy in the wake of Louis’ latest rude remark. “You’re being a dick.”

Louis shrugged, looking away. “I wasn’t aware that stopped being something you expected of me,” he said lightly.

Harry blinked, surprised, and then raised an eyebrow. “And that’s how you want me to see you, is it?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Louis claimed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just commenting.”

“Well, do you want to comment on why you’re back to being a dick?” Harry retorted, clearly irritated.

“I’m not being a dick just cause I’m not in the mood to play nice,” Louis snapped, turning back. “And I wasn’t being a dick before, either. There’s nothing conscious about it I’m just...being me. And if you piss me off, then I’m going to argue back.”

“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, folding his arms. “I don’t believe there’s nothing conscious about it; I think you’re being stupid about something, just like at the pub. I dunno if we’re back to you being threatened, or — ”

_ “Threatened?”  _ Louis repeated, pissed. “You really think you have that big of an impact on me? Arrogant, much?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Harry pointed out, emphasised with an angry arm movement. “I don’t know what this is about, but you seem to be taking it out on me so I’m just making guesses, here.”

“This isn’t  _ about  _ anything — there’s no big secret motive! Maybe I just don’t like you!”

“Maybe!” Harry agreed, viciously. “But excuse me for thinking things were improving, a little! You ever thought about how fucking confusing your behaviour is?”

“Do I look like I care?” Louis snapped. “We’re rivals for the same fucking job — I’m not about to waste my time thinking about your fragile little emotions!”

“Okay what the  _ fuck  _ is your problem?” Harry shouted, finally breaking, his voice rough and splitting. “Why the fuck do you think you can act like this to me?”

“I don’t need your fucking friendship,” Louis snarled back, figuring he might as well go all out. “That’s my problem. And for the record, I didn’t need you coming in and stealing my job, either!”

Harry looked as though he couldn’t quite believe he had to put up with Louis. “This isn’t your job!” he retorted, voice shot with frustration. “I had as much of a right to try out for this job as you did!”

“Well don’t expect me to love you for that!” Louis scoffed. “Jesus.”

“I don’t!” Harry shouted, looming over Louis with angry flushed cheeks and...oh. Images of Harry down on his knees, cheeks flushed for a whole other reason, flooded Louis’ mind, and he was struck with a woozy bout of inappropriate arousal. With stupid, irreverent  _ want. _

He could imagine all too well what it might be like to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair, watch his mouth fall open, pink and wet. But Harry was still talking. 

“—be fucking nice if you gave me some goddamn respect every now and then!” he was scoffing. “Jesus, you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Well maybe if you said anything interesting,” Louis sneered, trying to swallow around the arousal. Harry’s eyes flashed, and he threw up his arms in disbelief. 

_ “God,”  _ he hissed. “You might just be the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

Louis smirked, then, unable to quite stop himself. “I frustrate you, huh?”

And maybe that was it, maybe that was too far. Because, quite suddenly, Harry was grabbing him forward by the front of his shirt, and Louis was letting out a stupid gasp at the resulting thrum of desire. 

“Shut up,” Harry growled, low and harsh, his face stark and too-close, and then he was pressing his mouth against Louis’. 

Jesus, this was — Jesus. 

Harry’s fingertips were burning into the sides of Louis’ arms, and Louis had been still half-forming a retort, but suddenly instead he was tipping forward to move his mouth against Harry’s, more instinct than anything else, swallowing Harry’s little pleased grunt and reaching up with his arms to clutch against his torso. Thinking was out of the window, sense was out of the window, everything except the hot slide of Harry’s lips was faded, transparent, only his taller frame curving down to grip and give off stunted, gasping breaths was opaque and immediate. 

There was always something intoxicating about kissing, about having someone else so close and so warm and so responsive, and feeling them hum against your mouth, but with Harry it was as though that was maximised, somehow more intense. Louis was moving his hands desperately across the expanse of Harry’s back and pulling closer, always closer, and the air was hot and clinging and heady. Somewhere, someone knew this was a bad idea, but then Louis had gone this far anyway and Harry was hot and biting at his bottom lip. His palm was cradling the back of Louis’ neck with just the right pressure, wide and secure, and if someone knew this was a bad idea then it certainly wasn’t Louis. 

They broke apart just for a moment, sharp intakes of glass, and Louis dragged his mouth away from Harry’s to suck at his neck instead, at the join of his jaw and then his pulsepoint, spiked but surely not as pounding as Louis’, and doing this wasn’t supposed to be this  _ good.  _ Standing in a cold corner of a disinfected hospital with too-white surfaces and a soulless pinboard wasn’t supposed to lead to thoughts tripping over each other, Harry breathing messily against Louis’ ear and hands clinging to clothing as Louis mouthed at his skin, tasting sweat and Harry and nothing, surely, to fight about. He could tell a bruise was blooming where his mouth was, perfect, and he grazed it with his teeth before Harry was tugging him back into a kiss, frantic and vicious and infatuating, and one of Harry’s hands was moving shakily down Louis’ shoulders and back, jumping until it was pressing at the very top of the back of his thighs, warm and pulling him close but not quite touching his arse, not quite where it could be and all the more maddening, thumb moving in little stroking touches. Louis didn’t  _ do  _ this — didn’t kiss people he didn’t like like this, didn’t let out these little too-high noises and slide his leg between the other person’s, not with this whole frustrating build-up and certainly not in a deserted corner of a hospital, where in theory Dr. Edwards could walk in at any second and see them stumbled over, grappling and gasping and desperate. Yet here he was. 

It was all Harry’s fault, probably, all frustrating and viscous-slow and earnest little frowns as he bit his lip, eyes glassy with anger as he snapped, fingers tugging at Louis into a harsh, deep kiss. Harry and his low noises that affected Louis more than he was keen to admit, his stupid fuckable mouth, and everything about him that drove Louis absolutely fucking mad, would have done so even if they hadn’t been after the job, he was sure. Louis wasn’t the sort of person who did this, and yet somehow he was loving it, was feeling greedy and kiss-drunk, and completely unable to stop. Which was exactly why he needed to stop. 

He pulled his mouth away, somehow, air cool on swollen lips, but Harry just ducked his head lower and nipped at his neck, hot and disproportionately good. 

“Harry,” Louis got out, despite his distinct lack of breath, and Harry made a gratified, low noise and redoubled his efforts, obviously getting the wrong end of the stick. Louis couldn’t quite think, kind of wanted to arch his spine and expose more of his neck to the curling sensation, wanted to let his knees buckle and feel Harry’s biceps flex to keep him up, but he really, somehow, desperately needed this to end before he did something even more stupid, like beg to be fucked right there and then. 

_ “Harry,” _ he repeated, lower and with more force, and pushed at Harry’s shoulders until he was stumbling back, mouth red and puffy as he wiped at it with the back of his hand. 

The room was silent without the sucking noises and distracting sensations. For a moment they were both just staring at each other, breathing hard, hardly seeing anything but the memories of what they’d just done. Louis’ mind was so frazzled he barely knew what had happened, nor why he’d done it, nor what he was supposed to do now.

He kind of wanted to start kissing Harry again. He definitely couldn’t start kissing Harry again.

Harry sucked in a breath, eyes glazed and flushed cheeks stupidly attractive, and he was going to talk — going to say something, surely — so Louis did the only thing he could think of in such a state: he fled the room. 

The door fell shut behind him with a  _ snick, _ and the image of Harry standing there in the empty space, still ringing with their kiss, mouth open and about to speak, was hard to shake. Louis faltered, chest heaving, too exposed in the corridor, and then sped on away. 

He couldn’t quite focus on anything but the echo of Harry’s touch for the rest of the day. 


	4. Chapter 4

Louis was not looking at Harry.

He couldn’t, didn’t want to think what might happen if he turned and met his gaze. Didn’t want to risk the sudden influx of images, of Harry moving his mouth against Louis’, standing and breathing hard with flushed cheeks. 

God.

How Louis had made it through the rest of the day, had managed to work and clock out and grunt goodnight to Jesy as he passed her in the doctor’s lounge and then make it home without combusting, just expiring out of confusion and sexual frustration and a little more confusion, was beyond him. 

Dr. Edwards was saying something, brow furrowed, gesturing vaguely as she gazed at the whiteboard, but Louis could barely focus. All he was aware of was Harry sitting a couple of seats down at the same table as him, fidgeting slightly, swallowing. 

Was he thinking about Louis? Probably, if the glances he would shoot at him every few minutes were anything to go by. Louis could feel them, feel the uncertainty radiating off Harry in waves, could see his blurred profile out of the corner of his eyes and couldn’t help but twitch, hands itching, determined — desperate — to not succumb and look at him. 

It had been a mistake, obviously. Kissing Harry had been nothing but a mistake. A...a really enjoyable mistake, maybe, a hauntingly good, distressingly hot mistake, but. Well. Louis just needed to get laid, that was all. 

He didn’t want to make this situation any more messed up than it already was. If he started hooking up with Harry, started mixing up his feelings — because Louis was shit at separating feelings and sex, undeniably — and then one of them got fired and had to suddenly leave, let the other keep the job...it would be messy. Safer, easier, to keep Harry firmly away from any feelings. Yeah, that was — that was smarter. 

“Louis?” Dr. Edwards said, in a tone that implied she’d been trying to get his attention for some time now. Louis started, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“Uh, yeah? Sorry, um.”

“Tired?” she asked, with a wry raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Harry’s gaze was burning holes in the side of his face. 

“Sorry — you were asking me something?”

Dr. Edwards rolled her eyes, and repeated the question. Louis put every ounce of effort into paying attention after that, answering genuinely and reminding himself  _ not  _ to look at Harry, to think only of his job. It was easier, at least, with Dr. Edwards doing most of the talking, giving him something to look at and focus on.

Of course, since Louis’ life is a fucking joke, it was about two seconds after thinking that that Dr. Edwards was calling the session to an end, telling them she needed to go check something with Jesy about one of the patients’ surgery, and leaving the room. Immediately, Louis was grabbing his stuff, ready to get out of the room as quickly as possible, but Harry was clearing his throat pointedly. 

“Louis,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Louis closed his eyes, refusing to turn round, and tucked the pile of sheets he’d been gathering to his chest. 

“Do we?” he tried, weakly.

_ “Yes,”  _ Harry insisted, sounding tense. “Look, last night was — ”

“Please stop talking,” Louis snapped, giving in and turning to look at him. Harry shut his mouth, looking mulish. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? It  _ never. Happened.” _

A medley of expressions passed over Harry’s face, from irritation to displeasure to something like guilt. He cleared his throat.

“Look, I’m sorry if I — ”

Oh, God. He was trying to apologise. Panicking, not quite sure how he would handle it if Harry finished his sentence, Louis jumped to interrupt. 

“Just  _ shut up,  _ alright?” he snarled. “Just because we made out a little doesn’t mean I give a shit about what you have to say!” 

Harry’s expression immediately snapped to pissed. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” he scoffed, mouth a thin line. “Of course you don’t. Excuse me for trying to act like anything but a five year old,” he paused, staring angrily at Louis, and then shook his head. “You know what? Go fuck yourself, okay Louis? I can’t believe I even — just. Go  _ fuck _ yourself.” 

And with one last, bitter sneer, Harry turned to leave the room, shoulders tight with anger. When he opened the door, however, Dr. Edwards was there, as though about to re-enter, and she blinked with surprise at the sight of Harry leaving in such a state. She raised an eyebrow, looking between him and Louis, and stepped aside for Harry to awkwardly duck past. 

Louis fidgeted where he stood, hating the fact that he had to appear about 12 years old right now.

“Everything alright?” Dr. Edwards asked, with a pointed quirk of her eyebrows. Louis swallowed. 

“Peachy,” he croaked. “Just peachy.”

“I was just coming back in to get my folder,” she explained, pointing to it. “But actually…I think I’ll have a word.”

Louis swallowed. “Oh?” 

“I’m gonna need you and Harry to grow up,” she said, bluntly. 

Louis stared. “Um?”

“I get that this situation sucks, I really do, and I know it doesn’t really help, but you should know that it sucks for me, too. I like  _ both _ of you, I mean I’ve known you for God knows how long — I was your  _ mentor _ , and you’re brilliant. But then Harry is, too, and we get along great and he fits in here like a missing part…and the fact that I have to choose one of you? Fire the other? It effing  _ sucks.  _ But you don’t see me going on about it!”

“Right,” Louis agreed weakly, looking down. 

“I know, I know, it’s not as bad as the situation you two are in,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t give the pair of you an excuse to act like kids at each other’s throats. I mean — Christ, Louis, there have been a couple times when the you lot have been  _ this  _ close to arguing in front of the patients! And I know for a fact that you’ve had at least one public argument in a corridor, which is all  _ kinds  _ of unprofessional!”

“Of course,” Louis grimaced, feeling about two feet tall. “I’m sorry.”

“And the reason…” Dr. Edwards continued, hesitating. “The reason I’m saying this to you and not Harry is…well, I get the feeling a lot of the arguing is your fault. Louis, you know I consider you a friend, but I  _ am  _ your superior, so I’m just gonna have to come out and say it. Get your act together, or you’re really going to regret it.”

  
  


***

 

“Zayn?”

“What.”

“Zayn…”

_ “What?  _ Lou, I’m trying to do my job.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re just playing  _ Moshi Monsters  _ again, aren’t you?”

Zayn sighed theatrically. “Would you just tell me what you want?”

Louis frowned moodily, rubbing a finger along the desk surface. “Am I too much of a dick to Harry?”

That made Zayn pause, and glance up. “What?”

“Honestly, am I? Like do you think that?”

“I…” Zayn hesitated. “I mean, you’re sort of a dick to everyone, Lou, it’s like…I guess part of your charm? But with Harry it’s…different. Harsher. And I dunno, I don’t spend as much time with him as you, I guess, but…he’s nice. And maybe you guys don’t have to hate each other just cause of the job thing?”

Louis swallowed, still looking at the desk. “It’s not just because of the job,” he tried, weakly. “I mean…we do have contrasting attitudes to our work, and it can get a little conflicting.”

“Yeah, but…” Zayn paused, uncertain, but then offered a half shrug. “Is that really enough?”   


“I don’t know,” Louis admitted. “Maybe not.”

There was a pause, then, and Zayn studied Louis’ face with a quiet solemnity. Louis shied under the attention, and cleared his throat. 

“Anyway,” he said brightly, changing the subject. “Moving on, I just  _ remembered  _ something. And I can’t believe I actually forgot it in the first place.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “What?” he asked. 

“You and _Liam!”_ Louis explained, genuinely excited to hear the hot gossip. “How’d it go? What did you do?”

Louis knew damn well how it went, and he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to remember to ask.

“Oh, uh,” Zayn flickered his gaze down, shrugging. “I don’t know really. I just...I don’t know.”

Louis stared at him. He’d never been so disappointed in his life. “What do you mean you  _ don’t know?”  _ he demanded. “You — you must have said  _ something  _ for him to say — ”

“He said something?” Zayn’s head snapped up. 

…

“Uhhhhh,” Louis dragged, frozen on the spot. “No? What? I’m reliable. What?”

Zayn’s eyes widened to the size of cricket balls. “He did, oh my God. FUCKing hell! What did he say?? Fucking Christ! Oh my God. What did he  _ say?” _

“Nothing!” Louis said quickly. “Nothing, nothing. Absolutely nothing. We had a pleasant lunch. Nothing.”

_ “Lou,”  _ Zayn pleaded. “You can’t just — ”

“I’m Liam’s friend too,” Louis interrupted, albeit reluctantly. “I can’t just...even admitting there’s something I can’t share is admitting too much. C’mon, Zayn.”

“Jesus Christ,” Zayn croaked. “I can’t believe he actually...Jesus Christ.”

Louis had a feeling it was a good thing Zayn had been sitting down when he’d accidentally revealed that particular tidbit, else he’d no doubt be helping him up off the floor.

“Are you gonna tell me what you said to him or what?” he grumbled, annoyed at himself for essentially breaking Liam’s trust. 

“Yeah, I,” Zayn appeared to be grappling with the questions of the universe, eyes glazed. “I dunno I just...fuckin hell, Louis,” he broke into a disjointed smile, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. “Fuckin hell.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis glared at him. “Enough with the sunshine and rainbows, nothing’s for certain.”

“Yeah, course,” Zayn nodded, still dazed. “I honestly dunno what I said, Lou. Just...smirked at him, I guess. Asked how he was. I...I dunno.”

“Bet you fluttered your fucking insane eyelashes at him, too,” Louis rolled his eyes. “And he was putty in your hands, huh? God, you disgust me.”

Zayn was too busy smiling down at his hands to be offended.  

“Hey, Louis?” 

Louis looked up to see Jade, approaching with a frown on her face. “Yeah?”

“Did you order a second echocardiogram for Joshua?”

“What?” Louis frowned. “No? Why would I — oh,” his face soured. “For fuck’s sake. What’s he thinking  _ now?” _

“Louis,” Zayn warned, momentarily distracted from thoughts of Liam. “Remember what we were literally  _ just  _ talking about?”

“Joshua doesn’t need another echocardiogram, Zayn!” Louis snapped. “Obviously Harry needs someone to talk some goddamn sense into him. See you, Jade.”

Ignoring Zayn’s shouted criticisms and Jade’s resigned goodbye, Louis stormed off in search of the  _ idiot  _ he worked with. 

“What the fuck is this about you scheduling an echocardiogram for Joshua?” he demanded the moment he entered the room where Harry was flipping through files stacked on a desk.

Harry flicked his gaze up to meet Louis’. “I scheduled an echocardiogram for Joshua,” he said simply, in that terribly infuriating, slow voice.

_ “Why?” _ Louis asked, serially irritated. “What could you possibly hope to achieve?”

Harry gave a little defensive shrug, not saying anything in reply, and Louis took a pointed step closer, conversation with Dr. Edwards be damned. 

“We  _ know  _ the issue,” he reminded him, gesturing with his arms in the hope that Harry’d somehow  _ listen  _ for once. “We don’t need to schedule another fucking echocardiogram to just confirm the mitral valve prolapse we’re already aware  _ he has.  _ What could you  _ possibly _ hope to achieve?!”

Harry remained steadfast. “His mother was concerned,” he began, moving away from the files, and looking at least uncomfortable under Louis’ scrutiny. “Alright? She was afraid we might have missed something and — ”

“We didn’t miss anything!” Louis cried. “She was being hysterical! That’s what all mothers are like in this situation!”

“Doesn’t make her fears any less valid,” Harry snapped. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” Louis yelled, throwing up his hands. “But it also doesn’t make them  _ true.  _ We know exactly what’s wrong with Joshua, and we don’t need to perform an echocardiogram just to confirm something we already know! All he needs is advice on lowering his caffeine intake, and maybe some antibiotics in the future!”

“It’s a short procedure,” Harry argued. “It won’t bring Joshua any discomfort; I don’t see the issue — ”

“The issue!” Louis scoffed. “The issue is that you’re wasting the hospital’s money and everyone’s time on an unnecessary procedure. The issue is that you’re focusing on this and not on what might actually help Joshua. The  _ issue  _ is that you feel entitled enough to — ”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes and stepping into Louis’ space to glare at him. “Can you not turn these things into a petty, personal argument for once in your fucking life? I’m just doing this to bring his family some reassurance! Which I don’t care what you say,  _ is  _ important!”

“Not when he’s  _ fine!  _ I’d argue you’re exacerbating the problem and the hysteria by not just sending him fucking home!”

“And what if we  _ have  _ missed something?”

“We haven’t!”

“You can’t just — ! Christ!” Harry broke off, furious, throwing his hands up in a gesture of intense frustration, and then snapped his gaze back to Louis’. “You. Are so.  _ Annoying,”  _ he hissed through his teeth, face suddenly inches away from Louis’.

Louis swallowed, blood rushing with anger, and then somehow his gaze dropped unintentionally to Harry’s mouth. Harry’s face blanched with surprise. Time slowed. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

Was this — ? But  _ no _ . Jolting into awareness, Louis took a pointed step back, his heart suddenly pounding a million miles an hour. Harry seemed to have a similar realisation, and he flinched away, reaching up with a faltering hand to push his hair off his forehead. 

“Um,” he said, into the sudden silence. 

“Don’t,” Louis grunted harshly, turning away. His head was spinning, thoughts racing with images of what might have happened if they hadn’t stopped, of his job, of anyone walking in, of Harry’s stupid, angry flaring nostrils. 

Harry could do what he goddamned wanted, he decided. So long as they stopped having stupid fucking arguments that led to...well. Fuck. 

They were still awkwardly standing in silence, looking anywhere but at each other, when Dr. Edwards came into the room. She paused, taking in the situation, and then sighed.

“What did you do?” she asked Louis, exasperated. 

Louis felt a lick of shame, remembering her imploring him to clean up his act, but it was sort of overpowered by offence at her presumption. His heart was still racing. “Why do you assume it was something  _ I  _ did?” he demanded, perhaps unfairly harsh.

Dr. Edwards looked momentarily surprised, but then threw up her hands, shaking her head. “Whatever, I don’t know.”

Louis watched as she moved over to the whiteboard, beginning to write down possible treatments, and then felt a flare of anger when he noticed Harry’s slightly smug look. 

Honestly, it was  _ Harry _ who’d kissed  _ Louis, _ and landed them in this bloody mess. He tried to channel that into his dirtiest glare, and relished the sight of all traces of smugness suddenly evaporating from Harry’s face. 

 

***

 

“There you go, lads,” Dr. Edwards said, breathing with slightly more difficulty as she hefted the largest box of paperwork Louis had ever seen onto the desk in front of him and Harry. “Phewph!” she let out, as the table shook in a mildly concerning manner at the sudden weight. “Been needing to fill these out for ages, now,” she explained, surveying them with what might be a twinkle of smug glee in her eye. “And now I just realised I have a couple of lackeys ideal for sorting it all out.”

“Oh,” Louis croaked, feeling slightly ill at the sight of so much dull paperwork. “Goodie.”

“When do you want it done by?” Harry asked, sounding about as enthusiastic as Louis.

“Hm,” Dr. Edwards tapped her chin. “When do I want it done by? How’s...tomorrow evening?”

_ “Tomorrow evening?”  _ Louis spluttered. “But — Dr. Edwards! There’s about a week’s worth of paper in there!”

“Oh, tush,” she waved a hand, looking as though she were enjoying this far too much. “Split it up between the two of you...bright young things...it’ll be done in no time.”

“Um,” Harry said, but didn’t continue, as though he wasn’t quite sure what else to say. Luckily, Louis could think of several.

“Have you seen the size of that pile?” he demanded. “There is no way Harry and I will be able to finish that in time.”

“Well, you’ll just have to figure something out, won’t you?” she said lightly. “Of course,” and then her mouth pulled into a faintly evil smile. “You’ll probably have to spend some time here after hours, filling it all in. Might get talking, as the hours pass on by, mightn’t we?”

Louis felt his stomach drop away. “Uh,” he said, and suddenly he was the one who couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“But of course the real important thing is the paperwork,” Dr. Edwards continued, nodding with a fake, professional expression on her face. “That’s what I really want you to do.”

“Right,” Harry agreed weakly, a stiff shadow in Louis’ peripheral. Dr. Edwards nodded, looking smug, but then paused. 

“Just to be clear,” she added, sort of awkwardly. “You do actually have to do all of the paperwork. It’s really important. But...you know. Whatever the fuck is going on with you two just...talk it out.”

Louis stared at her, Harry’s presence itching against his skin, and wished sort of dimly that he could disappear right now. Dr. Edwards nodded once more. 

“Anyway, good luck. Wouldn’t catch me dead trying to fill all that bollocks in. See you!”

And then she left. And the room was rippling with the silence. 

“We should, uh,” Louis swallowed, after a moment, and he was all too aware of Harry’s quietly expectant gaze. “We should get started on the forms, huh?”

There was a pause, and then Harry let out a bitter snort. “Right,” he agreed, leaning forward and taking a pile out of the box. “The forms.”

 

***

 

The daylight crept out of the room, and the distant roar of busy hospital life faded to a nighttime buzz behind the walls, and Louis’ vision swam with tiny black printed words. His pen was stiff and sweaty between his fingers, hollow and clumsy, and yet the paper kept coming. 

“PCP,” Harry would murmur occasionally, as though he wasn’t aware of talking. “7/09.”

Each time, it was as though Louis couldn’t resist flicking his gaze up to take him in, to wonder at the gravel of his voice and the hunch of his shoulders. The walls were painted a strained sort of calm blue on one side and an ugly yellow on the other, and the light was cold and artificial, but Harry somehow still managed to look lovely. His mouth was tilted, his lashes flickering as he scanned sheet after sheet, and there was something about the way his fingers skittered against the fake-wood of the table that had Louis staring. 

But that was weird. He forced his gaze back to his own piece of paper. It was just sort of — strange. That they’d made out. And Louis couldn’t help but think back to it, to Harry’s touch and Harry’s mouth and the sensation of going weak at the knees. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have gone along with it, but maybe he wanted to do it again.

Couldn’t, though. Oh boy, he most certainly couldn’t. He blinked hard, waiting for images of their almost moment to dissipate, waiting for the words on the piece of paper to swim into focus. Jesy always used to joke about the sort of fever you got from filling in too many forms — itchy skin, shapes passing in front of your eyes like incorporeal hallucinations, muttered strings of numbers and a distinct lack of sleep. Louis felt like that was exactly what he was going through now. 

There was nothing for it but to keep filling in the forms. 

At one point, between evening and true nighttime, Niall came in, whistling some Enrique Iglesias song and spinning a mop round his fingers, but at the sight of Louis and Harry, slumped hopelessly in between piles of paper, he raised an eyebrow and ducked quickly out again. Louis couldn’t blame him. This was hell. 

It might have been easier if it had been anyone else, if Louis had been able to lean back and complain loudly, crack jokes and hum to distract himself from the crushing boredom and the close press of the walls. But with Harry, everything was underlaid with awkward. Louis wasn’t sure how he felt about the guy — he was still annoying, and a threat, but there was also just something about him that kept him in Louis’ thoughts, and it wasn’t entirely the fact that he was insanely fit. He wasn’t sure where the two of them stood, what with the arguing and the kissing, and it was kind of his fault.

He sneaked a glance at Harry, at where he was frowning at one of the forms, and imagined what he might say to him. Thing was, he barely understood his own feelings — Harry was attractive, and the kiss had been hot, and he may be frustratingly likeable but he still didn’t know how he really felt about him. And no matter what happened, sleeping with the guy you were competing with for a job was a bad idea.

Louis tried to force himself to get back to his work, mindful of the large piles of paperwork still remaining and the prospect of disappointing Dr. Edwards. It worked, for a while, with the night slipping by and Louis growing more and more tired, but then Harry cleared his throat. 

Louis’ eyes flitted to take him in, and Harry shifted awkwardly. 

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go get some coffee from the machine,” he explained, his voice coarse after so long being silent. “You want anything?”

Louis blinked, surprised that Harry would offer when Louis’d really been nothing but rude to him. He took a little too long to respond, thrown and looking at Harry’s uncomfortable hand movements as though they held the answer, until Harry awkwardly cleared his throat again, drawing Louis’ gaze back to his face.

“Right,” Louis said. “Um. Some tea, maybe? Cheers.”

“Tea,” Harry repeated. “Alright. I’ll — uh, be back in a sec, then.”

Louis gave a jittery nod and ducked his head back down to stare at the sheet he was filling in. Harry returned with the two steaming styrofoam cups a little while later, setting his own down beside his little pile. The other he held out to Louis, and the moment was somehow suspended.

Harry was looking at him, with an expectant and presumably automatic light in his eyes, and Louis couldn’t do anything but stare back. What was it about this guy that affected him so much? Why couldn’t he get him out of his head — his disarmingly good way with kids, his irritatingly slow drawl, how it had felt to kiss him...why did it all add up to something Louis couldn’t stop thinking about?

Harry faltered, suddenly, the spell breaking, and placed the cup firmly on the table in front of Louis before moving back to rub at his neck. Louis, too, fell back into himself, his stomach flipping with guilt at the sight of someone clearly so uncertain around him, but also with a very important reminder. 

_ He wants your job. Remember that. _

“Thanks,” Louis croaked awkwardly, and Harry made a redundant little shrugging movement, sitting back down and returning to his work. 

It was going to be a long night. 

 

***

 

“Zayn,” Louis wheezed the following morning, slumping against Zayn’s desk and dropping his head into his arms. “Zayn, I didn’t go home last night. I fell asleep at my desk for like an hour tops and I ruined my spine and I had nightmares about different combinations of numbers with meanings you can never remember. I close my eyes and all I see is columns upon columns of boxes to tick. Is it Y or is it N? Who am I?”

The sound of Zayn’s laughter filtered through Louis’ cloud of exhaustion and woe, and Louis let out a pitiful noise at the feeling of Zayn patting his head. “Aw. Rough night then, babe?”

“The roughest,” he agreed grumpily, raising his head a fraction to peek at Zayn’s expression. “You don’t look nearly sympathetic enough.”

“Shocking,” Zayn’s mouth twitched. “Hang on a tic, will you? OI — NIALL!”

“Unsympathetic and ignoring me,” Louis huffed, dropping his head back into his arms. “Some friend you are.”

“YOU GOT THAT SCARF OR WHAT?” Zayn shouted, ignoring him. 

“Ah, sorry mate,” Niall’s voice sounded. “I’ll bring it in tomorrow, swear on my life.”

“Bloody better, I’m not spending the weekend freezing my balls off without it. — oh, and would you get Lou a tea or something? He’s complaining something awful and I can’t leave the desk.”

_ Caffieneee.  _ Maybe Zayn wasn’t so bad after all, even if this hospital’s tea did taste like boiled cardboard, and reminded Louis of unsettling encounters. 

“Ooh yeah,” Jade’s voice joined the scene. “Perrie was telling me about all the work she landed him with. You alright, Lou? We had a right cackle about it, but I can’t help but pity you.”

Louis lifted his head to glare at her. “Wow, thanks, Jade.”

“Don’t worry, Tommo,” Niall comforted him. “I’ll get you some tea. You finish all the stuff?”

“No,” Louis pouted. “So guess what me and Harry’ll be doing at lunch. I take back every time I’ve ever claimed that sleep is for the weak. If it is then I’m weak. So weak. I can hear colours. Is that normal?”

“Aw, bud,” Niall said cheerfully. “If it makes you feel any better I got round to clearing up that weird stain in the doctor’s lounge you guys were all complaining about. That floor is spotless now. _Spotless._ Do I deserve an above-and-beyond award or what?”

“You’re the janitor, Niall. They literally pay you to clean the floors.” 

“Whatever. But hey, TGIF, right? I say we all go out to the pub tonight, blow off a little steam.”

“That’d be great,” Jade agreed. “I love kids, but if I spend another evening reading  _ The Gruffalo  _ I’m gonna grow a slimy black tongue and sharp pointed prickles myself.”

“To be honest, I’d love to see that,” Zayn offered. 

“Nah, don’t you worry, Thirlwall,” Niall waved a hand. “Couple of pints will cure any case of  _ gruffaloitis.  _ Trust me, I work in a hospital. This all sound all right with you, Tommo?”

Louis let out a groan. “Maybe? Yes. I don’t know. Will I have the energy? I’m tired.” 

“You complain too much,” Zayn rolled his eyes. “Doctors pull all nighters all the time...if you wanted sleep you should have become a receptionist like the rest of us with sense.”

“Besides, it’s us nurses that do all the dirty work anyway,” Jade sniffed, eyes twinkling. She referred to an ancient rivalry, and Louis had long-ago learnt the correct response.

“We doctors grovel at your feet,” he answered automatically. “I am but your humble servant. The NHS would crumble without you.”

“Damn straight,” Jade grinned, high-fiving Niall. “Kay, talking of, I’ve got a hospital to run. See you guys later.”

They chorused their goodbyes, but Niall was frowning at Louis. “C’mon, Lou,” he said, once Jade had walked off. “You gotta come out. You’ll have a blast, I swear.”

“Uhh...yeah, alright,” Louis conceded. “I guess I could grace you lot with my presence. For a little while.”

“Brill! And then you can sleep all weekend, I swear.”

“Yeah, well, I’m holding you to that. Saturday is gonna be nothing but hours of watching  _ Antiques Roadshow.  _ I need this.”

_ “Antiques Roadshow?”  _ Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Piss off, Malik.  _ Antiques Roadshow  _ is a gift. Fiona Bruce is the only woman I will ever love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall was nodding. “All the antiques you could want — just come out tonight and hang with the gang.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis grumbled. “I’m coming! Why can’t you let me be an old man?”

“Because you love clubbing too much for it not to be weird that you sometimes go to bed at 7pm and enjoy  _ Antiques Roadshow?” _

_ “Antiques Roadshow  _ is on at 8, you prick, so that doesn’t even make sense.”

Zayn rolled his eyes, but then Niall was clapping Louis on the shoulder and going to go get him some tea, beautiful fellow that he was. 

 

***

 

In the end, the day sort of sucked. Louis spent about every other second stifling a yawn, and his lunchbreak frantically scribbling in paperwork, and anything beyond rubbing at his eyes or wearily handing Dr. Edwards a shitload of forms seemed intangible. 

By the end of it, despite what he’d said that morning, Louis was all for going out to the pub with friends, and getting plastered, and relaxing. He sank gratefully into the familiar scene of terrible music playing under the hubbub of people loudly arguing, tottering on bar stools, and nodded gratefully at the sight of his friends squashed impractically around a too-small table.

“Alright, guys?” he greeted them, dragging over a chair from a neighbouring table. “How’s it going?”

Zayn clapped him on the shoulder, handing over a pint, but the rest of the table was consumed by apparent heated discussion.

“I don’t care what you say, Jess!” Dr. Edwards was saying loudly. “S Club 7 were nothing once Cattermole left!”

“Oh, come on, Perrie,” Jesy protested.  _ “Nothing?  _ R eally. I’m not saying they were —” 

“You can’t honestly — !”

“I’m  _ not  _ saying they were as good!” she repeated loudly. “We can all agree that S Club were better as a 7. We can all agree! But their  _ sound  _ improved. Come on, they were progressing and maturing and — ”

“Absolute rubbish,” Dr. Edwards scoffed. “They fell on their bloody faces. You ever heard anyone sing anything from their last album? I don’t even remember what it was called, whereas the earlier ones — ”

“What sort of point is that when their first two albums were called _S Club_ and _7_? I would hardly call remembering that a stretch!”

“And _Sunshine_! I remember _Sunshine_ and that’s...you know. Sort of original.”

“I don’t care what you say, Pez,” Jesy sniffed.  _ “Alive  _ was a fucking tune, and their last album was not as bad as you claim. Back me up here, Jade.”

“I dunno what you lot are on about,” Jade admitted, hands clutched around her pint glass. “I always thought S Club 7 were a bit shit.”

_ “You what?”  _ Jesy and Dr. Edwards shouted simultaneously, whirling on Jade, who put her hands up in surrender. Louis turned to Zayn.

“So, what exactly’s going on?” he asked, amused.

“Perrie and Jesy have a lot of opinions,” Zayn shrugged. “I’m with Jade, if I’m honest.”

“You’re full of shit is what you are,” Louis teased. “I’ve heard you singing  _ Don’t Stop Moving  _ more times than I can count.”

“Just because a song’s catchy,” Zayn began, raising a finger. “Doesn’t mean it’s…” but then he broke off, eyes focusing on something behind Louis. “...uh…”

Louis turned around, pretty sure he already knew what had distracted Zayn, and, (sure enough), caught sight of Liam and Leigh-Anne entering through the pub door. Leigh-Anne was in the middle of saying something, waving her hands vaguely in the air, and Liam was nodding along, listening intently — or, he was, until he looked up and caught sight of Zayn. Then, his face cleared, and his mouth fell a little lax, staring dazedly across the rowdy pub and swallowing faintly. Louis risked a look back at Zayn, who had the tiniest of smiles beginning to play at his mouth, his eyes positively shining, and pointedly cleared his throat.

“I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“Wha’?” Zayn croaked, eyes slowly flickering back to focus in on Louis. 

“Oh, welcome back to Earth,” Louis rolled his eyes. “You look ridiculous when you look at him, you know that? It makes me uncomfortable. Where’s Niall, anyway?”

Zayn jutted a thumb in the direction of the dart board, where Niall and Harry were pissing about, to sounds of great mirth. Louis blinked, surprised, but before he could comment Liam and Leigh-Anne had reached the table. 

“Oi, Leigh!” Jesy said loudly, leaning casually back in her chair. “You had a massive thing for Justin Bieber, didn’t you?”

Leigh-Anne looked a little taken aback, and then a little embarrassed. “Well —” 

“No way,” Liam gasped, turning and grinning at her. Then he paused. “Hang on. Is that...Leigh-Anne! Is that why Justin is called Justin?!”

“No  _ way,”  _ Louis crowed, laughing. “You named your ambulance after  _ Justin Bieber?” _

“Shut up!” Leigh-Anne protested, as Jesy fell about laughing. “Jesy, you backstabber! At least I don’t have a crush on Max off of  _ Eastenders _ !”

It was Jesy’s turn to look insulted. “Hey, that is not the same thing at all!”

“You  _ what?”  _ Dr. Edwards cackled. “Jess, c’mon. He’s right old.”

“Yeah, what?” Louis asked, baffled. “Where’s the appeal?”

“I can’t believe I’ve been driving an ambulance named after Justin Bieber for the last year and a bit,” Liam said, mostly to himself, looking mildly horrified. 

“Oh, come off it, Liam,” Leigh-Anne rolled her eyes, somehow squishing in next to Jade. “It’s hardly the end of the world.”

“I...I feel unclean.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t affect your manliness,” she grinned. “That’s long gone.”

“Hey,” Liam protested, taking a seat next to Louis. “Uncalled for.”

“Niall wasn’t sure if you guys were coming, by the way,” Jade said. “So we didn’t get you any drinks, sorry.”

At the mention of the name, Louis glanced back over to where Niall and Harry were playing darts. Niall aimed a particularly awful shot and then turned to offer Harry a fistbump as though it had been bullseye, and Harry slapped a hand to his chest, slumping backwards with laughter that cackled through the pub. 

Louis felt a little odd, seeing Harry laugh like that. They’d shared a few moments of amusement, but those half-hearted tokens of companionship couldn’t hold a candle to the way Harry was with Niall: completely relaxed and happy. It was a good look on him. 

“You alright there, Tommo?” Liam asked in his peripheral. “You wanna play darts or something?”

“You kidding?” Louis scoffed, turning back and switching on a grin. “Like I’m playing you again, you maniac.”

“That was an accident!” Liam insisted, outraged. “Honestly, it was one time. And I apologised!”

“I’d play some darts,” Jade offered. “I’ve been working on my aim.”

“Ready to take on the Tommo?” Louis asked, grinning. “It’s a risky business, I have to warn you.”

“Pssh,” Jade stood up, chair squeaking against the floor, and downed the last of her pint. “You’re going down, Louis.”

Louis stood up too, making a show of cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders back. “Hold onto your hats, boys,” he drawled at the others, tapping his knuckles on the table. “We gonna have ourselves a show.”

Jade laughed, and then they were heading over to the dartboard, Jade ushering Niall and Harry out of the way to limited and mostly amused protest. 

They played several games, neither especially great at it but keeping up a steady string of trash talk, and although Louis lost he would swear till the day he died it was through Jade somehow cheating.

There were several more glasses of alcohol involved, and the next thing he knew they were all fairly drunk. The beer seemed to have removed some of Liam’s inhibitions, because he was pretty obviously gazing at Zayn, chin rested in his palms and a droopy expression on his face. Louis felt more than a little smug. 

“We had someone call us ‘cause they had insomnia, the other day.  _ Insomnia. _ Didn’t we, Liam?”

There was a pause as Leigh-Anne turned expectantly to Liam, and then a slow, “...what?” as Liam blinked sluggishly. “Sorry, I...distracted.”

Zayn flushed and smiled down at his pint. Leigh-Anne glanced at him, confused, but then suddenly smirked.

“Oh, right,” she chuckled. “Anyway, yeah. We get down there and this woman’s like  _ I can’t sleep…” _

The conversation moved on, and Zayn and Liam continued to skirt around each other like idiots. Louis smirked to himself, shaking his head as he took another gulp of beer. 

The night passed, as all the best nights do, in a series of what would become anecdotes. There would be ‘that time Jesy accidentally slapped a man in the face whilst re-enacting a particularly active moment from  _ The Simpsons _ ’, ‘that time (one of many) Jade managed to somehow fall asleep, balanced daintily on a string of three bar stools and later had to be carried into a taxi by a bowlegged Harry’, and the time (Louis would always especially cherish this moment) Zayn came up to him, looking suddenly pale.

“I can’t ever be serious about Liam,” he said, a little helpless and as dramatic as he always was once drunk. 

“What?” Louis demanded, surprised and concerned. “Why? You can’t be over him??”

“Not even close but…” he paused, and an expression of intense disgust took over his features.  _ “Zayn Payne.” _

There was a long moment as Louis stared back at him, and then he was throwing his head back and cackling. 

“It’s not funny!” Zayn protested, even if his lips were quirking. “Honestly, Lou, you’re such a wanker.”

_ “Oh my God!”  _ Louis howled. “Oh my God, you have to get married this instant.”

Of course, there were also a couple of moments Louis probably wouldn’t be sharing anytime soon. Like brushing past Harry on his way to the loo, their hands grazing, and not being able to get their kiss out of his head. 

He couldn’t help but flex his fingers, remembering the feel of Harry’s hands tangled in the back of his scrubs when they’d made out, the hot slide of his mouth, and wondering what it might be like to grab Harry now, shove him into the toilets and push him up against the wall. 

God — no. Bad thoughts. Bad arousal. Louis was a  _ professional,  _ or something, and that was a bad idea. (If though… _.if.) _

Somehow he ended up drunker than expected, slumped against Liam, telling him about how much he loved him and how he had the perfect face to throw things at. Louis wished he could say this didn’t happen often. 

“Did you know that, Liam?” he wondered drunkenly. “The perfect face. I just want to throw things at you like....all the time. I love you, man.”

Before he knew it he was thinking sappily about how perfect Liam and Zayn were for each other, how emotional he was that his best friends were falling in love. (Zayn and Liam had never really clicked with each other the same way they each had with Louis, what with Zayn always being a little too infatuated to not act like a knob around him, but if they got together things would be...just great.)

“Oh man,” Louis slurred without context, unable to stop the loopy smile on his face. “It’s gonna be so great.”

“Huh?” Liam asked, blinking like a drunk owl. 

The night deteriorated from there.


	5. Chapter 5

“Check mate!” 

Louis peered at the board. “How did you just move?”

“Like this,” Nirmala demonstrated. “My rook was here, now he’s here, and you’re in check mate! Right?”

“Oh, no, you can’t move your rook like that,” Louis corrected her gently. “He can only move in a straight line, remember? It’s the bishop that moves diagonally.”

“Oh,” Nirmala’s face fell, and she retracted her rook. “Never mind. How should I move then?” 

“Hm,” Louis assessed her pieces. “If you move your knight there then you’ll take my pawn.”

“But pawns are basically useless!” Nirmala complained. “That’s like throwing away my move.”

“Not necessarily,” Louis said, grinning. “If I managed to get my pawn all the way to the edge on your side then my pawn can become a Queen. And my pawn’s pretty close, isn’t he?”

“What?” Nirmala demanded. “You made that up!”

“Nope,” Louis laughed, holding up his hands. “Swear on my life, that’s a rule.”

“Well you could have told me  _ earlier,” _ she sniffed, using her knight to take the pawn. “I let you get all the way over there.”

“I could have,” Louis admitted. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Him and Nirmala spending time together had become, like, a thing. Louis still didn’t know what she was in hospital for, and to be honest didn’t  _ want  _ to know, but whatever it was was clearly long term, and Louis had the feeling she got sort of lonely watching other kids come and go. Her mum, apparently, worked long hours so couldn’t visit very often, what with Nirmala’s two little brothers to also look after, so Louis had taken it upon himself to spend a little time with her, here and there, and make sure she was doing alright. 

It felt a little odd, if Louis was honest with himself, going against the way he’d trained himself to approach his job, but Nirmala wasn’t his patient, so. He supposed it was different. 

“Dr. Tomlinson?” 

“Yeah?” Louis answered vaguely, too busy studying his chess pieces to look up.

“Didn’t you say you had to go somewhere at half past?”

“What?” Louis’ head snapped up, following Nirmala’s gaze to the clock. “Oh, sh—shoot. Yes, I did. God, um, we’re gonna have to finish the game a bit later, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Nirmala shrugged, although the corners of her mouth down-turned a little. 

“We’ll finish it tomorrow, alright?” Louis assured her. “Here, let me put the board to the side so our positions are preserved. There, see? Okay, I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” she replied, clearly disappointed but making sure to smile at him. Louis felt a twinge of guilt, but had little choice but to go on back to work. 

As he was quickly walking through the corridors, however, he was stopped short by a disembodied voice calling his name.

“Hey, Louis!”

Momentarily baffled, he quickly recognised the Irish tone and swivelled his head to take in the janitor’s closet, raising an eyebrow. 

“Niall,” he acknowledged, staring at said Irishman’s rear end as he was bent double, rummaging around some buckets. “You doing okay there, mate?”

Niall met Louis’ eyes, upside down through his own legs, and grinned. “Just looking for one of my rags,” he explained. “‘S a bit hard to find.”

“I can see that,” Louis agreed, taking in the horrific mess that was the janitor’s closet. He wasn’t really one to judge, given the state of his own flat, but still. “You know...for a janitor...you’d think you’d have cleaned this up a little more.”

Niall righted himself with a little wobble, clutching the rag in one victorious hand, and frowned. “It’s not dirty,” he argued. “Everything’s spotless, just a little hectic, maybe. Normally I can find everything fine.”

Louis’ eyes followed the path of a mop as it tipped over onto the floor with a clatter. “Uh huh.”

“Aw, fuck you, mate,” Niall crossed his arms, righting the mop with a foot. “Like you’ve ever cleaned a thing in your life.”

“Okay, fair,” Louis held up his hands in concession. “Fair. So...you called?”

“Yeah, what the fuck’s going on with Liam and Zayn? I thought Liam was never gonna notice Zayn’s crush.”   


Louis shrugged, grinning. “They’re both being really vague about it, but I’m hoping big things. Big things indeed.”

Louis was going to write the best best man speech ever. Heaven help Liam’s mum and her quest to stop crying at family events. 

Niall nodded, looking pensive. “But they’re not together just yet?”

Louis shook his head. “Nah, Zayn’d have told me, or shat himself, or both. Either way, I’d know.”

“Cool,” Niall mused. “Okay, that was kind of it. I got floors to disinfect.”

Louis saluted, continuing down the corridor.

 

***

 

The thing with working in the one hospital long enough is that you grow accustomed to the fact that most patients come and go just the once. Working in cardiology made for the exception, as you followed children with lifelong conditions up until adulthood, but for most the other doctors the patients were — for the most part — one off. Which made it especially notable when you had people that just kept reappearing. 

On this occasion, Louis was in the middle of a conversation with Zayn when they were interrupted by the excited shout of a familiar eight year old boy and the squeak of trainers on the floor. 

“Zayn!” Kian shouted, skidding unsteadily to a stop in front of the desk and leaning up on his toes to rest his elbows on it, grinning a toothy grin. “Will you draw me another superhero? Please please!”

Zayn chuckled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as Louis smirked at him. “Uh, sure, mate. Who’d you like this time?”

Kian’s eyes lit up, but then he scrunched up his face, clearly putting a lot of thought into the question. “Well…” before he could come up with an answer, the scene was once again interrupted by a shout.

_ “Kian!  _ What did I tell you about running away from me!” 

Louis turned, amused, to where Kian’s mother Anita was hurrying along, expression a mixture of fury and worry, clutching little Sara’s hand where she obediently kept with her mother. 

“Oh, hi, Zayn,” Anita greeted as she caught up with her son, sounding flustered. “Dr. Tomlinson.”

“Hello, Ms. Shah,” Louis said, and then laughed as Kian suddenly straightened and cleared his throat. 

“I want the Black Panther!” he decided. “He’s cool.”

“What’s this?” Anita asked her son, looking between him and Zayn. “Another drawing? Oh, that’s sweet. You know,” she said to Zayn, “he still has the spiderman one pinned up on his wall.”

“Mum,” Kian protested, looking embarrassed, but not as embarrassed as Zayn. 

“It was just a doodle,” he said awkwardly. “No need to keep it…”

“No, no!” Kian snapped his head back around to stare at his hero, mortification forgotten in the face of Zayn’s doubt. “It’s amazing! I want to draw like you when I’m older!”

As Zayn floundered, Anita turned to Louis. 

“Do you know much about headaches?” she asked. 

Louis blinked. “Headaches?”

“Sorry,” she shook her head, offering an unconvincing laugh. “I should just wait until we’re in the centre, talk to whoever’s on shift there. It’s just…” she glanced at Sara to make sure she wasn’t listening. “It’s Kian. He gets them sometimes, and I just have a bad  _ feeling  _ about it. Do you think it could be serious?”

Louis found himself struggling to contain a small smile, inwardly rolling his eyes at Anita’s hypochondriac tendencies. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he told her. “But whoever’s on shift at the Walk-In Centre will take a look at him, make sure nothing’s wrong.”

Before Anita could reply, Niall had entered with Harry, and his immediate call of pleased surprise drew her attention.

“Eyy!!” he beamed at the sight. “Look who it is!” 

Sara and Kian turned to look at him at the same time, both ecstatic at the sight. “Niall!”

“What’re you rascals doin’ here?” Niall demanded through a grin, coming closer and bending down slightly. “Life dull without your favourite janitor?”

“Can you push me on your trolley again?” Kian asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Though—” he suddenly remembered Zayn, and turned to look at him, apparently torn.

_ “I  _ wanna,” Sara added, slightly more nervous than her older brother, although her voice took on an especially smug quality for a six year old. “Kian can stay here and blush.”

“Sara!” Kian squealed, as Niall started to laugh. 

“Neither of you are going to ride on the trolley,” Anita scolded. “We’re here for a reason.” 

“But  _ Mum,”  _ Kian protested. “Can’t we after? It’s super safe.”

“Yeah, Mummy, please,” Sara pleaded, turning and blinking her huge dark eyes up at her mother. 

“I’d make sure it was totally safe,” Niall assured her. “But of course if you can’t stay you can’t stay.”

“Maybe another time,” Anita compromised, and Niall looked almost as disappointed as the kids, prompting Harry to laugh. 

“Hey, who’s that?” Kian asked, noticing him for perhaps the first time. 

“Have you two never met Dr. Styles?” Niall asked, surprised. “Well, I guess he is relatively new.”

Kian and Sara stared up at him, Sara suddenly shy. “Hi.”

“Dr. Styles,” Niall continued. “This is Kian and Sara, and their mother Anita.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said politely, and smiled especially at Sara. “I like your pigtails.”

Sara blushed, mumbling a small, “Thanks.” 

There was a pause, and then she seemed to set her mind to speak.

“Your hair’s very curly.”

Harry laughed. “I guess it is.”

Louis had a moment to feel as conflicted as ever at the sight of Harry being sweet with kids, before Anita cleared her throat to get her children’s attention.

“Right, come on you two,” she said. “We gotta get going to the centre. Nice to meet you, Dr. Styles, and to see you lot again.”

“Hope everything works out,” Louis told her, and she shot him a polite smile, dragging Kian away by the hand when he didn’t immediately follow. 

“So,” Harry looked expectantly at Niall once the Shahs were out of earshot. “They are…?”

“Honestly I’m surprised you haven’t encountered them before,” Niall said. “Kian and Sara are always in and out of this place. Not because of any real sickness, mind. S’just their mother, isn’t it? Anita’s a right hypochondriac.”

“They have one red mark and she thinks it’s a deadly rash,” Zayn agreed, rolling his eyes. 

“Sometimes she’ll come into the WIC for herself, thinks her cough means pneumonia, you know the one, but mostly it’s the kids. Sweet woman, really. Dunno where the dad is, s’only ever been her, and I think it’s only born out of love for them. Still, there have been two separate occasions where she’s brought Kian in, apparently 100% certain that he’s suffering from tetanus, despite the fact both he and Sara have had the shot.”

Harry laughed. “Aw, well she did seem nice.”

“Yeah, and the kids are just the sweetest. Plus, Kian’s got the biggest crush on Zayn, which is always funny.”

Zayn glared at him, embarrassed. “He does not.”

“Aw,” Louis grinned. “Zayn doesn’t know how to handle being worshipped.”

“Pssh,” Niall snorted. “Like he doesn’t revel in it. Zayn likes to act all uncomfortable,” he tells Harry. “But in reality he loves it when Kian’s here— makes you feel all special and loved, doesn’t it Zayn?”

“Shut up, Niall,” Zayn grumbled, while the other three laughed. 

  
  


***

 

The end of Louis’ shift that day brought with it, surprisingly, the sight of Liam and Leigh-Anne in the doctor’s lounge.

“You two lost?” Louis asked with a raised eyebrow. “The ambulance station is a good five minute drive that way.”

“Piss off, Louis,” Leigh-Anne rolled her eyes. “I’m here to see Jesy.”

“Right,” Louis agreed readily. “And Liam’s here because…?”

Liam shifted, uncomfortable. Louis grinned.

“You ready to tell me about that crush yet, buddy?”

“No,” Liam grumbled. Then paused, shifting uncertainly. “Maybe. I dunno. Feels weird to say it out loud.”

Leigh-Anne snorted, ruffling his hair and flattening his quiff. “Yeah, okay,” she rolled her eyes. “Imma go track down Jess. Later, babes.”

“Bye,” Liam replied, looking for all the world like an abandoned puppy as she left the room. Louis couldn’t help but laugh sympathetically.

“If I take a wild guess,” he drawled. “As to the identity of the guy. Will you confirm?”

“Not if you get it wrong,” Liam pointed out. Louis nodded obligingly.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Not if I get it wrong.”

“And you only get one guess,” Liam added. 

“One guess,” Louis affirmed. “An impossible task, I’m sure, Liam.”

Liam crossed his arms, giving Louis a look. “Well. Are you gonna guess or what?” he prompted. 

“Am I indeed?” Louis teased, although Liam looked unamused. “Fine.” He closed his eyes, and tilted his chin up, pretending to think. “Lemme just...feel out the answer.”

“Louis…” Liam sighed, but Louis shushed him.

“Shh, I’m getting in the zone.”

“Do you  _ have to _ — ?”

“O GREAT SPIRITS,” Louis intoned, theatrically. “SHOW ME THE WAY INTO LIAM'S PSYCHE. ILLUMINATE TO ME — hang on, is illuminate the right word?” he cracked open an eye to peer at Liam, who glared at him. “No? No input? Okay, I’ll go with illuminate. Ahem. ILLUMINATE TO ME THE MYSTERIES OF LIAM’S HEART. AND...AND THE FLUTTERINGS OF HIS SOUL.” Louis took in a breath, enjoying the waves of irritation coming off Liam. “O GREAT SPIRITS,” he continued. “SMILETH DOWN UPON US HERE IN THIS ROOM...SPECIFICALLY ON  _ ME... _ AND GRANT ME—”

“Louis, come on, just —”

“—THE POWER WITH WHICH TO LOOK INTO HIS—”

“This isn’t  _ funny.” _

“—LAID BARE SOUL. WHAT GLITTERING EYES WILL I SEE THERE? WHAT SHINING BEAUTEOUS…”

“Oh for  _ fuck’s —” _

“It’s Zayn,” Louis said quickly, stopping his grand speech abruptly. “Isn’t it? It’s clearly Zayn.”

Liam blinked, clearly taken aback. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, it’s — it’s Zayn. Am...am I really that obvious?”

"Mate," Louis put a hand on his shoulder. "The two of you are disgusting. Zayn's inconsolable, and I'm pretty sure you've regressed into the form of a fourteen year old schoolgirl. It's pretty obvious."

Liam stared at him. "So you...you think Zayn likes me back?"

"Might have been a couple subtle hints, yeah." 

"Oh," Liam breathed, and then stared at the floor.

The door opened, and Leigh-Anne returned with Niall in tow. 

"You honestly think she's already left?" Leigh-Anne was demanding. "I don't believe it!"

"Dunno," Niall shrugged, flicking a piece of string off his janitor suit. "If you can't find her round the surgery rooms, I'm not sure what to tell you. Either of you lot seen Jesy?"

Louis shook his head. "You tried the front desk? She might be waiting there, talking to Zayn, I dunno."

At the mention of Zayn's name, a pained expression appeared on Liam's face. Leigh-Anne tutted. 

"You still talking about this?" she asked. "Liam, c'mon."

"It's a valid fear!" he protested.

"Yeah," she conceded. "No, it is, but worrying about it isn't gonna solve anything."

"But Louis said he likes me back."

"Oh well yeah, for sure," she agreed readily. "Perrie reckons he's been head over heels for months and months."

Liam looked horrified. "That's even worse!"

"Wait, what's going on here?" Louis asked. "I'm not following."

"Yeah, surely Zayn liking you back is a good thing?" Niall agreed. At Liam's minorly surprised look he shrugged. "You're pretty obviously arse over tits, mate."

"I...well..." Liam looked pained. "I'm just not 100% sure about my. You know. Feelings. What if I don't actually like him like that? What if I'm just blowing this out of proportion, and then I end up hurting him?"

"Well," Louis thought about it. "I mean...I guess to start, are you attracted to him?"

"I don't know!" Liam moaned. "I mean...yes? But also...I don't know. I mean it's  _ Zayn! _ It's not really a fair test!"

Leigh-Anne looked pensive. "I mean, we've got to give him that," she conceded. 

"I've thought about it," Niall agreed.

"Yeah," Louis drawled. "And Niall's so straight it hurts to look directly at him."

"See!" Liam said, scrunching up his forehead in a great impression of a frustrated golden retriever. "How am I supposed to fucking tell? And if he actually proper likes me, then I can't just...not without being sure!"

Louis let out a slow whoosh of breath. "Damn," he said. "Alright, Liam, I see your point." 

“Liam, you don’t have to do anything if it’s freaking you out like this,” Leigh-Anne said softly. “Even if Zayn does feel that way, ultimately it’s up to you. You know?”

“Yeah,” Liam muttered, avoiding her eyes. “It’s just...it’s just a lot of pressure. I wish I’d never even noticed I felt this way.”

“Hey,” Leigh-Anne frowned. “Don’t say that. Not yet. This might turn out to be an amazing thing, you know? And if it doesn’t — well, you know a little bit more about yourself. I bet that’ll be freeing, or something.”

“Yeah,” Liam said again, with slightly more conviction, and offered her a weak smile. “Alright.”

“And you know that we can always just steal Justin and abandon our obligations,” she added. “Drive into the mountains or, like, to the airport and go to Las Vegas. Gamble our worries away, and then hustle rich people out of all their money.”

“What, and get drunk married?” Liam suggested, smiling for real now.

“Um, excuse me,” Leigh-Anne held up a finger. “How easy do you think I am? I’ve seen you covered in other people’s sick too many times to find you attractive, Liam Payne. You’ll have to find some other sorry loser to trap into marriage.”

“You say that now,” Liam teased. “But after ten shots of tequila and the thrill of stealing millions of pounds from washed up American celebrities? You won’t even stop to buy a wedding dress.”

“Please, I’ll still find you gross,” she laughed. “Now are we done having serious convos? I still gotta track down Jesy.”

 

***

 

“Hey — Louis, right? Would you go take care of room 21F? I gotta…but I think someone’s been ringing and — ” the vaguely familiar nurse broke off, her hair frazzled and forehead sweaty, and gave an ambiguous wave of the hand. “Please just go take care of it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis agreed, and the nurse was already rushing off before he’d finished forming the two syllables, shouting another command at someone else. 

It was 3am, and Louis was four hours into working the night shift. His eyes vaguely stung with exhaustion, but there was currently a shortage of nurses to deal with all that needed to be done, and it was just turning out to be one of those nights where everything was turning to shit, so there would probably be no pause for air for Louis until his shift ended at 7am. 

The reason someone had been ringing for a nurse at room 21F became apparent the moment he arrived, taking in the boy bent double on the bed, heaving into a bucket he was clutching with weak, clammy hands. A man who appeared to be his father hovered anxiously next to him, stroking his back. His head snapped up at the sound of Louis’ arrival.

“What took so long?” he demanded, desperate. “Gabe, he just — he just started throwing up and I…I didn’t know what to do! Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologised, rushing forward to check Gabriel’s chart. “We’re a bit stretched thin at the minute.”

“Stretched  _ thin?  _ He’s puking his guts out!”

Louis was too busy taking in the information on the chart to offer much of an answer. Gabriel was fifteen years old, suffering from leukemia, and undergoing chemotherapy. Louis supposed the vomiting might be a side effect of the chemo, or he might have contracted viral gastroenteritis due to his weakened immune system. 

Gabriel had stopped being sick, and lifted his head to shakily wipe at his mouth. His dad hurried to pour him some water. 

“This may be a symptom of the chemotherapy,” Louis said calmly, approaching Gabriel round the side of his bed. “Or a stomach bug that your body just isn’t prepared for. I’m going to have to take your temperature, is that alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Gabriel croaked, looking worn out. He sat still as Louis took a thermometer and checked his temperature via his ear, tutting when the reading appeared. 

“You’ve got a fever,” Louis reported, his stomach sinking. “It’s a stomach bug. Right, drink some water, we’re gonna need to keep you hydrated.”

Gabriel drank the water, but five minutes later he threw it up again, along with the bile that was all that was left in his stomach. 

“Gah,” he got out, wiping clumsily at his mouth again. “How long is this gonna last?”

“I’m not sure,” Louis admitted, glancing at the clock. “But probably for a while yet, I’m afraid. Your body’s not up for fighting the virus very effectively.”

Gabriel’s face screwed up as he fought back tears, and he pressed the back of his hands to his eyes. “I just want to sleep,” he whispered, thickly. “I’m really tired.”

“Well, why don’t you do just that,” Louis told him, his heart tugging with sympathy. “Your body probably needs the rest.”

“But what if something happens?” he asked, voice shaking. 

“I’ll be here,” his dad answered quickly, fiercely. “You just go to sleep, okay? I’ll make sure you’re alright.”

Gabriel sniffed and nodded, quickly wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hospital gown. 

“I feel like crap,” he admitted. “I dunno if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Just give it a go,” Louis told him. “I have a feeling you’ll be able to.”

“Alright,” he agreed croakily, and began pulling the covers up over himself. His dad helped, getting him as snug as possible, while Louis picked up the sick bucket to go and dispose of the vomit and give them space.

Away from the pressure of being with a patient, after washing his hands, Louis had to take a moment also to bow his head, rub at his eyes and stifle a yawn, but he had barely paused for two seconds when the consultant in charge of the shift was calling his name. 

By the time he had finished dealing with that he paused just long enough to share half an energy bar with a kindly nurse before he was checking up on Gabriel. It was not the scene he’d hoped to return to.

Gabriel’s hair was plastered to his face with sweat, but he was clutching the covers tightly to himself in his sleep, his father sitting close by with a troubled expression on his face, circles engraved deep under his eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Louis asked in an undertone, taking in Gabriel’s troubling appearance with a pang of concern. 

“I think you should take his temperature again,” Gabriel’s father said roughly. “He feels too hot.”

Louis came forward to do so, concern only growing as Gabriel rolled over, eyes moving in his sleep so that his eyelids fluttered unsettlingly, his limbs twitching. It looked pretty bad. 

Gabriel woke with a start when Louis went to check his temperature again, but he didn’t seem to take in his surroundings.

“Gabriel?” Louis asked, trying to stifle his alarm as Gabriel sat bolt upright in bed, his head swivelling as he looked around the room, panic in his glazed eyes.

“Gabe?” his father tried, reaching forward to put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, but Gabriel only seemed to panic more at the touch, flinching back and crying out.

“I think he’s hallucinating,” Louis explained, quickly. “It’s probably best if you give him some space. Gabriel, can you hear me?”

“Oh my God,” Gabriel moaned, and pressed his hands to his face, shaking. He seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, and the heart-rate monitor was demonstrating the jack-rabbit pace of his heart beat. 

“The fever must have risen,” Louis said slightly redundantly, and turned to quickly yell out the door.  _ “Can I get some help in here?”  _

“Gabe, Gabe, baby it’s alright,” his father was saying, still standing by the edge of the bed, and reached out again —  _ like an idiot —  _ to touch Gabriel’s arm.

“Hey, I just said — ” Louis began, sharply, but Gabriel was already flinching back, pulling his hands away from his face. His mouth opened as though to speak, but instead he was vomiting foul, greenish liquid all down his chin and over his front, body buckling with the force of it, but then Louis realised that wasn’t why his body was buckling at all.

“Fuck,” he said, rushing forward to shove the dad out of the way. “He’s seizing, dammit!  _ Nurse! Hello!?” _

This time, thankfully, a nurse appeared in the doorway, reacting quickly to help Louis move Gabriel into the recovery position. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Gabriel’s father was babbling, panicked and distracting. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” Louis grunted out, barely looking up from where he was checking Gabriel.

“But he’s my — ”

“Sir, please come with me,” it was another nurse, who by the sound of things was practically manhandling the dad out of the room. Thankfully, within the next couple of seconds Gabriel’s convulsions began to subside. Louis let out a breath of relief as they gradually faded, Gabriel’s form growing still on the bed, and Louis reached forward to place a hand to Gabriel’s forehead, looking up at the monitor as his heart rate began to slow and his breathing even out.

The first nurse reached behind Louis to take a needle out of one of the drawers, filling it with liquid.

“I’m going to put him in a deeper sleep,” she explained at Louis’ glance, and he nodded. 

“Good idea.”

“So what’s the situation here? Stomach bug?”

“Looks like it,” Louis confirmed, feeling the jittery adrenaline begin to seep out of his veins as the nurse administered the drug, and the sight of Gabriel’s now calm form reassured him that the danger was over. “I guess I should go talk to the father.”

“Yeah, maybe tell him to listen to the professionals next time,” the nurse muttered, brushing a hand along Gabriel’s sleeping forehead. Louis offered a wry smile and left the room to find Gabriel’s father, but before he could locate him he was distracted by the tinny sound of his pager going off. 

Louis didn’t even have time to think to curse the bloody thing, because a patient was going into cardiac arrest, and he was too busy sprinting towards the room to do anything else. Louis burst through the door to see a nurse pulling down a little girl’s hospital gown to expose her chest, and Harry already preparing the defibrillator.

“I don’t know what happened, I left the room for two seconds!” the nurse was explaining, frantic as she attached the electrocardiogram leads. “Okay, she’s ready.”

“Stand clear,” Harry ordered, stepping forward with the paddles. “Three, two, one…”

The girl’s body jolted with the electric shock, but when Louis’ gaze snapped to check the monitor it was still displaying the pulseless ventricular tachycardia. 

“Again!” Harry barked, voice fraying, and administered another shock. 

Louis and the nurse watched on, helpless, as the girl’s body convulsed again, seemingly so fragile against the electric shock and the size of the paddles against her pale skin. Then, the jolting sound of a flatlining monitor filtered, deceivingly loud, through the air. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Harry bit out, putting down the paddles as the nurse attached a bag valve mask to the girl’s mouth, and Louis stepped forward to begin chest compressions, his own heart beating a mile-a-minute as he counted. 

_ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - _

Distantly, he was aware of Harry and a pharmacist trying to work out what could have stopped her heart, what were the drugs most likely to work, but he didn’t let his mind focus on anything but the counting.

_ \- 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 -  _

After a minute, his arms aching with the physical effort of pumping someone else’s heart externally through the ribcage, Louis stepped back to let someone else take over, breathing hard and watching close as a nurse administered whatever combination of drugs Harry and the pharmacist had settled on. 

The room was tense, choking, with only the rough, rhythmic sound of the doctor administering compressions and — on every thirtieth — the nurse squeezing the air bag. Practically everyone in the room was holding their breath as the last of the drugs entered the girl’s bloodstream, that constant, maddening sound of the flatlining machine drilling through the air and driving everyone’s blood pressure skyrocketing. 

Until…it wasn’t.  _ Beep, beep, beep. _

“Oh my God,” Harry slumped back against the wall, and the other doctor stepped back from the patient, drawing a shaky hand across his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis croaked, eyes flitting between where the girl’s chest was now rising and falling, and the monitor that displayed a normal heart rate, unable to decide what was the more reassuring sight.

She was alive. Now all they could do was hope they’d acted fast enough to prevent any lasting brain damage. 

Louis’ limbs were shaking with leftover adrenaline as he left the room, his body hardly able to process that the drama was over, that the girl was alive. Harry was already out in the corridor, leaning so that his forehead was touching the wall and his hands were braced against it, and Louis took a shuddering breath at the sight.

“You okay?” he asked, roughly, barely aware of the other people moving around them. Harry didn’t lift his head. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice throaty. “Just…shaken. She practically died in front of me.”

“She didn’t, though,” Louis reminded him, stepping closer. “You made the right calls.”

“I know,” Harry said, letting out a huff of breath. 

There was a long pause, a tiny flicker in the artificial lighting from up above, and then he lifted his head, shaking it slightly as he turned to look at Louis. 

“I spent all night trying to get this newborn baby to accept any food,” he said. “I thought he was going to die, not a day and a half into this world. And then the moment he’s stable on a drip, there’s a five year old girl having a heart attack. Crazy, right?”

“I guess that’s the night shift, for you,” Louis said, offering a wry shrug. “It’s either hours of nothing, or everything goes wrong at once. I had a kid with leukemia seizing due to his sky-high fever, and his dad freaking out right there in the room. Actually,” he frowned, drew in a breath. “I guess I should go make sure everything’s okay with them. Shift isn’t over, after all.”

“You’re right,” Harry nodded, taking his weight off the wall and rubbing at his eyes. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”

“I don’t know about that,” Louis said with a tired smile. “But there certainly isn’t any for us.”

  
  


***

 

Afterwards, Louis found himself sitting, dazed, half asleep, on the ratty sofa in the doctor’s lounge. The sky visible through the window above the water cooler was tinged pink with the rising sun, unnecessarily beautiful after the sort of night Louis had had. He was practically half asleep, but he wasn’t ready to go home — not just yet. 

And then he could feel the sofa cushion dip down to one side, and Harry was sitting down next to him with a huff, head tipping back against the rest. For a few long moments, neither of them said anything. Louis tilted his head to take Harry in, circles deep under his eyes in the unflattering, harsh hospital light. 

In the background, the vending machine whirred and the continuing hospital produced that faint hubbub of noise, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything but the exhaustion in Harry’s eyes, the movement of his throat as he swallowed. 

“‘S a lot, isn’t it?” Harry asked, voice low and rough and barely forming the words. Louis searched his eyes for a moment.

“Sometimes,” he agreed, and his voice rasped like the crunch of sand. The silence washed back in, except for the fact that it’s never quite silent in a hospital. 

Harry breathed out, closing his eyes, and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones. Louis wondered if he should look away — acknowledged he probably should, and didn’t. Harry shifted, and he was a lot closer now, but Louis still didn’t move. 

“You alright?” he found himself asking instead, for the second time that night, even if they were supposed to hate each other, even if he’d promised himself something stupid about boundaries. You take the night shift together, Dr. Edwards was always saying, and everything else just sort of falls into perspective. Right now, any worries about his job were hidden in the pink tendrils of sky outside the building, and more importantly right now Harry was looking distant and shaken, and Louis’ eyes were swimming with the slight crease of his brow. 

Harry shrugged a little, just one shoulder, and opened his eyes. “Tired,” he answered, barely more than a mumble.

Louis lifted one side of his mouth up into the smallest little grimace, and nodded. 

After a moment, Harry swallowed and pushed out his lip in acknowledgement. He breathed out a small, “thanks, though,” that felt dizzyingly far away. 

Louis didn’t push it any further, not with Harry gazing at him like that; he didn’t do anything at all except blink heavily, feel the weight pulling at his eyelids, and lean slowly forward to meet Harry’s mouth in a brushing kiss that was slow and sleepy and soft. It wasn’t anything like their last one — no urgency or heat, no curling toes or half-gasps, only comfort and two people utterly shattered. The last time Harry had been everywhere, had been in all of Louis’ senses, and their hands had been clutched, deep, in each other’s clothing. 

But this time their bodies were apart, only their heads leaning forward to meet in the middle, and maybe it didn’t mean anything, but maybe Louis found his hand moving, dragging along the sofa surface to link lazily with Harry’s fingers, just touching, warm skin on skin, so that when Harry gradually moved his head back Louis could feel his index finger twitch.

Louis’ eyes must have dropped closed in the process of the kiss because he didn’t see the look on Harry’s face when he murmured, “goodnight, Louis”, but he heard the scratch in his voice, the lull of the rhythm, and he felt his heart breathe out a sigh as Harry slowly got up and left. 


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, so, it had happened again. This was something Louis was trying to come to terms with, sitting and attempting to not panic in the middle of a small room that contained only himself, Harry, and Dr. Edwards. 

(An altogether too familiar scene.)

He’d somehow managed to ignore it thus far, only going home to sleep and eat after that stupid shift, and his thoughts had been refreshingly cooperative in Not Thinking About It whilst on the way to work, but once he’d made it here…well, it was sort of hard to pretend anymore. He wanted to be ranting at himself —  _ HOW COULD I LET THIS HAPPEN? AGAIN? —  _ but every time he tried his mind would replay those hazy, dreamy fucking moments at the end of the shift, and his stomach would do a flop and he’d only come to the conclusion that he’d do it again, given the chance.

But that was — bad!!! God, fuck that was bad. And what was even worse was that it wasn’t like last time, when Harry had kept sneaking little nervous glances at him and radiating uncertainty. Oh, no. This time, he was sitting perfectly naturally and listening to whatever Dr. Edwards was saying, and the only evidence of a reaction that Louis could pick up on was that, every now and then, there would be a smile playing around the edges of his mouth, as though he could feel Louis’ stare and was amused by it. 

Louis was going to kill him. This was  _ not  _ the way to be acting. This whole stupid situation was not an appropriate way to be acting! Jesus Christ, only Louis was stupid enough to get himself into a situation this fucked up. 

“Brilliant,” Dr. Edwards said, finishing up. “And don’t forget to see to Lucy, like I said.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed smoothly, as Louis’ mind struggled to catch up with the fact that Dr. Edwards was now leaving the room. Fuck — why hadn’t he listened to what she’d said? What were he and Harry supposed to be doing? If he tried to exit too, would that betray the fact that he hadn’t been paying attention to a single word that came out of her mouth? God, he was going to have to ask Harry what she’d said. Or he could just, like, die. 

Louis was already up and grabbing his stuff before the door had fully closed behind Dr. Edwards, but it wasn’t quite quick enough.

“Louis,” Harry said, folding his arms. 

“Don’t want to hear it!” Louis snapped, and maybe it was a problem that his default panic mode was to be mean, but it sure wasn’t a problem he was going to deal with right now. 

“Louis, you can’t just pretend everything’s normal,” Harry pointed out, infuriatingly self-assured. “You literally kissed me.”

Oh, God. 

“I was tired,” Louis retorted. His stupid fucking fingers weren’t cooperating to zip up his bag quick enough, so he gave up and slung it, still half open, over his shoulder. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You can’t make that argument twice in a row,” Harry reasoned, neatly sidestepping in between Louis and the door.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here,” Louis sneered, cornered. “But I don’t want to hear it. As far as I’m concerned, we’re just rivals for a job. That’s it!”

“You  _ kissed  _ me! Twice!”

“Hey — the first one’s on you!” 

“Louis—”

“For fuck’s  _ sake!”  _ Louis growled, desperate. “It’s not a thing! Sometimes people regularly get off and it’s NOT. A THING.”

But then Harry was smirking, and Louis felt his stomach flip at the sudden change. 

“Ah,” Harry dragged out, his voice infuriatingly slow. “So that’s what you want, then?”

Louis was frozen, hating himself for being such an embarrassing idiot, but before he could open his mouth to properly retort, Harry was a lot closer than he’d been before. 

“Don’t overthink things, Lewis,” he advised, voice stupidly low and hot, and then they were kissing, harsh and nothing like the comfort kiss they’d indulged in the other morning. 

Louis felt almost dizzy from how much of a contradiction Harry was — soft and clumsy whilst also somehow drawling and attractive, with an air of confidence that cracked into uncertainty. He seemed young and energetic, but also old and quietly serious, and Louis hated him and also he…didn’t. Mostly he just drew him closer, licked into his mouth and felt the stubbornness leak away. It was hard to remember why he shouldn’t be doing this, not with Harry’s low satisfied hums into his mouth, and the intoxicating feel of his warmth close to Louis’ body. 

 

***

 

If Louis found himself later on that morning self-consciously pressing a hand to his mouth as he walked through the corridors, wondering if it was obviously swollen, then…well. That was his business. 

He was only stopped short by the sight of Jade exiting Niall’s cupboard, straightening her uniform. Jesus Christ…was  _ everyone  _ secretly shacking up in this hospital???

“Jade!” he hissed, baffled. “Jade, what the fuck? Are you sleeping with Niall?”

Jade turned, surprised, and then laughed. “Nah, mate,” she assured him. “I’m just laying my bet! I’m gonna win this thing. Anyway, I got stuff to do so, see you.”

Louis blinked at her as she walked away. 

“What,” he said aloud, completely at a loss. But then there was a long, painful creaking noise, and Louis slowly turned his head to see the door to the janitor’s closet inching it’s way open, as though a feature in a poorly-shot horror movie. 

With every new inch it creaked open, it revealed another slice of Niall, sitting proudly on an upturned bucket among his precarious piles of cleaning supplies, one eyebrow raised. 

“Hello, Louis,” he said, dramatically. “Come in.”

“…Niall,” Louis acknowledged, after a short pause. “Keeping busy, I see?”

Niall laughed good-naturedly. “I’m running a secret betting pool,” he explained, theatrics abruptly abandoned. “Zayn can’t know about it, so I’m conducting business from in here. It’s actually pretty alright. Slap up a couple golfing posters, get myself a beer…I could really make this work.”

Louis thought back to their conversation a couple days ago, and broke out into an impressed laugh. “Are we betting on when Zayn and Liam get together? Fuck, mate, that’s gold.”

Niall accepted the offered fistbump, grinning. “Isn’t it? So, you wanna make any?”

“Hm,” Louis stroked his chin. “I’ll give it a month.”

_ “Controversial,” _ Niall noted, intrigued. “Any insider information you wanna share?”

Louis tapped his nose. “Ah, my dear Nialler, but that would be bad business, wouldn’t it?”

Niall inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A fair cop,” he said, picking up a clipboard and pencil. “I’ll put you down for a fiver on one month then, shall I?”

“There’s a lad,” Louis confirmed. 

“Done,” Niall dropped the pencil, satisfied. “Where are you off to now, then? Had a busy morning?”

“Um,” Louis said. 

 

***

 

“I really don’t think this is a good — uh — a good idea,” Louis murmured into Harry’s mouth, hands gripping his shoulders.

Harry pulled back a little, rested his forehead against Louis’ and for a few moments they were simply breathing into each other’s mouths.

“Tell me to stop,” Harry whispered, “and I will.”

Louis said nothing. Harry huffed out a little laugh, the rough grate of it reverberating through Louis’ stomach.

“‘S better than fighting, anyway,” he teased, and Louis had to give him that. Then Harry ducked his head to suck at Louis’ neck, and all his thoughts seemed to drop away. 

Louis couldn’t tell you how long it was until he remembered himself, lost in a daze of Harry’s mouth and hands and the rhythmic pounding of his own heart, but at some point or another reality managed to kick in.

“Wait,” he spoke the word against Harry’s throat, lips brushing the skin, and felt Harry shiver in response. “Wait, um, I have to ask you something.”

Harry’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, arms tensing slightly where they encircled Louis’ waist. “What?” he asked, suddenly low and tentative.

“What was Dr. Edwards saying this morning?”

There was a long, fragmented pause, and then Harry was giggling.  _ “What?”  _

“I wasn’t listening!” Louis explained, pulling back to pout at Harry’s laughter. “It’s a legitimate question, I need to know what we’re supposed to be doing!”

“Well,” Harry began, mouth still twitching with amusement. “Right now it’s our lunch break.”

“I am aware of that, Harold,” Louis rolled his eyes, shoving against Harry’s chest. “Look, I’ve been blagging it all morning, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just relate what she told us to do.” 

“Were you a bit distracted, then?” Harry teased, smirking. “Something on your mind?”

“I swear to God, Styles…!” Louis warned, drawing back and away, but Harry tugged him back easily, laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he gave in, shaking his head. “This morning we were supposed to be organising the surgery for Dr. Edwards’ new patient, Elsie, which I’ve done. Then this afternoon a previous patient, Lucy something, is coming in for a checkup.”

“Right,” Louis nodded, relieved. “Okay, brilliant.”

There was a pause, then, when neither of them really knew where to go from there, what with the mood having been broken and the absurdity of their current circumstances really hitting home. Then Louis swallowed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said, untangling himself from Harry’s web of limbs. “I’m gonna get some actual lunch, so.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, slightly awkwardly. “Good idea. I guess I’ll do that too.”

  
  


***

 

As it turned out, Lucy’s checkup showed signs of pulmonary regurgitation and arrhythmia, so they’d need to replace her pulmonary valve. Louis left Harry to organise that, having conducted the checks himself, and also aware of the fact that he hadn’t seen Nirmala since they’d finished that game of chess the other day. 

She was, unusually, in her room when he eventually found her, sitting up in bed with a large book balanced on her knees, a finger tracing the lines as she read.

“Hey, kiddo,” Louis greeted her, coming and pulling up a chair at her bedside. “What’cha reading?”

“Mum bought me  _ The Hobbit,”  _ she explained, huffing slightly. “It’s supposed to be really good. She said the lady in the shop recommended it, but I don’t think my reading level’s good enough. I have to keep reading the same lines over and over, and sometimes I  _ still  _ don’t get it.”

There was an underlying threat to her voice of potential tears, frustration evident, and Louis made a sympathetic noise.

“Well that’s no good,” he said. “Reckon it’d help if I read some to you?” 

She sniffed, turning to look at him fully, and then gave a wobbly shrug. “I guess we could see?”

“I guess we could,” Louis agreed with a grin, and reached forward to take the book. “Now I want you to know I’m excellent at reading things out loud.”

“Is that something you can be excellent at?” Nirmala asked, sceptical as she scooted down a bit under the covers. 

“Absolutely,” Louis confirmed. “Absolutely you can, and I know from personal experience. You better hold onto your imaginary hat, because this is going to be some excellent out-loud reading.”

After about ten minutes, Nirmala cleared her throat, and Louis glanced up from the page. 

“I’m giving you a six out of ten,” she said, already beginning to giggle before the words were fully out.

“What!” Louis demanded, a little shrill. “A  _ six?  _ A six out of six, you mean! Full marks for the best reading you’ve ever had the pleasure to hear! How can you say that was only a six out of ten!?”

Nirmala was too busy rolling around on the bed with laughter to fully answer, which Louis only took as encouragement. 

“A six, she says!” he lamented, pressing a theatrical hand to his forehead. “A man trains for fifty years to perfect the art of reading out loud, and gets ranked a  _ six!  _ Oy vey! What shall I tell my mother! What’ll I tell my wife and kids? A  _ six!  _ Of all the  _ inhumanities!  _ Of all the — !”

“Um,” the low, slightly hesitant voice broke through Louis’ air of practised, flamboyant outrage, and he blinked, thrown, to take in the sight of Harry  _ (of course)  _ standing in the doorway. 

“Harold,” he said, suddenly sheepish, and Nirmala pushed herself up with one arm, the other wiping at her eyes, to look at the newcomer, still breaking out in the occasional snigger. 

“Hey,” Harry said, reaching up with one arm to rub at the back of his neck. “Hey, um, sorry to interrupt; Jade said you’d be here? But, uh…” he trailed off, obviously uncertain in how to articulate his confusion as to why Louis  _ was  _ here, eyes flicking over to take in Nirmala, who was clearly not one of their patients.

“Right, how rude of me,” Louis straightened in the chair, clearing his throat. “Uh, Nirmala, this is Dr. Styles, my…colleague. Dr. Styles, this is Nirmala. She’s been keeping me company in my spare moments.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes widened as he recognised Nirmala from that day in the children’s play area, and there was something warm playing in them when he glanced momentarily back at Louis. “Hi,” he said to Nirmala. “It’s lovely to meet you, so sorry to barge in on your room like this.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Nirmala answered politely. “And that’s okay; Dr. Tomlinson was just reading to me.”

“Yeah,” Louis grumbled, so that Nirmala began giggling again. “Reading to my harshest critic yet. This one scored me a  _ six  _ out of  _ ten!” _

“Imagine that,” Harry played along, smirking. “An insult to the very name of Tomlinson.”

“See,” Louis turned to stick his tongue out at Nirmala. “Dr. Styles gets me.”

“I think he’s deluded,” she said, shoulders shaking as she snorted into her palm. “I was practically f-falling asleep.”

“Well I think you just haven’t been exposed to enough  _ really  _ terrible readers,” Louis argued. “Take Dr. Styles, for example. His speaking voice is like a sloth-dementor cross, so there is  _ no way  _ he can read out loud better than me.”

“Hey,” Harry protested, but Nirmala was already sizing the two of them up, stroking her chin. 

“Well then why don’t you both read,” she decided. “And then  _ I  _ can pick a winner.”

Harry and Louis exchanged amused glances. 

“Alright,” Harry agreed, rolling up his sleeves. 

“But only ‘till the end of the chapter,” Louis warned, checking to see the number of pages left. “Then we’ve gotta go do actual doctor stuff, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nirmala confirmed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. 

By the end of the chapter, Louis and Harry had worked out a foolproof system of who read what, with Louis producing an excellent gruff rendition of Gandalf, and Harry giving Bilbo Baggins the randomly squeaking voice of a boy going through puberty, much to Nirmala’s enjoyment.

“So?” Louis asked, once they were done. “Go on, put us out of our misery.”

“Hm,” Nirmala wriggled until she was sitting up, ready to give the answer all the gravitas it deserved. “Well,” she continued, from the more serious positioning. “I can’t decide.”

“What!” Louis protested, outraged. “Once again I am cut to the quick! What’s wrong with my voice if it’s the same as Dr. Styles’?”

“I resent your implication,” Harry said, mouth quirking. “I thought I played the roles expertly.”

“That’s why I can’t choose!” Nirmala explained, squirming. “They were both good! Ten out of ten!”

“Hmmm,” Louis narrowed his eyes, grumbling. “I don’t know about that.”

“Fortunately for you, Nirmala,” Harry said with a laugh, “Dr. Tomlinson and I have to get back to work now, so he can’t splutter about injustice any further.”

“Maybe not to her,” Louis muttered, and Harry elbowed him in the ribs. Nirmala grinned, accepting the book when he handed it back.

“Thank you,” she said, manners kicking in. “Can you read to me again sometime?”

“Sure,” Louis agreed. “I’m down to reprise the role of Gandalf any day. Earn my rightful crown as Best Reader.”

“It was lovely to meet you, Nirmala,” Harry said graciously, and Louis followed his lead out of the door, turning back to wave at Nirmala at the last second. 

“Absolute slander,” Louis said to Harry once they were out in the corridor, who rolled his eyes and kept walking. “By the way, would you call  _ The Hobbit  _ a children’s book?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s classified.”

“Really? I never read it myself. The films make it look older, I guess.”

Harry shrugged. “They definitely changed some stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I still wouldn’t have bought it for her. Now,  _ Milly-Molly-Mandy,  _ that’s what I call a children’s book. I always read them to my sisters, and it’s proper stuff. Cute, you know.”

Harry shrugged again. “I was always more of a  _ Just William  _ kid, to be honest,” he said. 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “You mean you were posh?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry replied, sarcastic. “‘Cause  _ Milly-Molly-Mandy  _ is the mark of the working class.”

Louis snorted, and had to give him that, but suddenly Harry was stopping in the middle of the corridor and touching his arm. Louis stopped too, turning to look at him in surprise, and Harry  swallowed, that same unspoken warmth from earlier flickering again in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you’d continued to see her,” he said, out of the blue, and Louis blinked, but then had no choice but to shrug and reply, butterflies in his stomach.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he warned. “I’m still sticking to all my opinions. She’s not our patient, so it’s different, and she was lonely…that’s all.” He paused, then, hesitating on whether or not to say the next thing — whether it would imply too much, but then said it anyway. “It’s got nothing to do with you, okay?”

Harry’s expression hadn’t changed. “Okay,” he agreed, the word light and pleased. 

After a moment, they started to walk again.

  
  


***

 

“Oh, lastly, today this couple gave birth to a baby who was a nasty shade of blue,” Dr. Edwards was saying, scratching at an immaculate eyebrow with one finger. “Poor little thing was just born suffocating, so I put her on oxygen and had her moved to the neonatal intensive care unit, and I’ve conducted an echocardiogram. We still need more information, though, so I’m going to need one of you to perform a catheterisation procedure tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Louis answered. “I can do it.”

“Great, thanks,” she said, smiling. She overall seemed pleased with Louis after the recent change in his and Harry’s working relationship, even if she did not know the full extent of it. (Things weren’t miraculously all sunshine and rainbows, obviously, but it felt sort of weird to yell at each other over work stuff given the new side to their relationship, and Dr. Edwards didn’t seem to want to question the improvement.) “In that case I’ll see you two tomorrow then, bright and early.”

“Have a good night,” Harry replied, as he always did, and Dr. Edwards fondly rolled her eyes as she left the room. 

“God, I’m starved,” Louis announced, yawning as he stood up. “That jacket potato at lunch just didn’t do it for me.”

“I’ve got some roasted soya beans in the doctor’s lounge, if you want some,” Harry offered, bizarrely.

“Roasted soya beans are your snack of choice?” Louis clarified, bemused. “Not, like, a packet of crisps?”

“I like crisps,” Harry defended himself as they started to walk through the corridors. “But soya beans are a healthier alternative.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis snorted. “Yeah, go on then. I guess I’ll see what all the fuss is about.”

“Honestly I imagine you’ll hate them,” Harry said with a grin. “But I’d still quite like to see the reaction.”

“Honestly, I was thinking the same thing,” Louis admitted, and Harry laughed. When they reached the doctor’s lounge, Harry did indeed whip out a large bag of soya beans, popping a few in his mouth and crunching obnoxiously. 

“Delicious and nutritious,” he said with his mouth full, and Louis made a grossed out noise, laughing.

“That’s disgusting, Styles,” he said, collapsing on one of the sofas. The TV was playing a slightly crackling version of  _ The Towering Inferno,  _ which Louis muted. 

“Do you wanna try some?” Harry asked, sitting down next to him. “I’m sure they’ll be  _ right _ up your alley.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, hand us the bag.”

Harry watched expectantly, amused, as Louis ate a couple beans, feeling his own face scrunch up in distaste as he chewed.

“I don’t understand,” he said, swallowing dryly. “Where’s the appeal? It’s like eating a nut but…more like cardboard.”

“They’re delicious and nutritious, Louis,” Harry repeated, grinning like a shit. 

“God,” Louis let out a disgusting hacking cough, lifting up a hand to encircle his throat. “They made my mouth and throat so dry. I feel like I haven’t had water in decades.”

Harry shook his head, grabbing the bag back. “No taste,” he claimed, putting some of the soya beans in his mouth and making an exaggerated noise of enjoyment.

“Guh,” Louis made a show of coughing again, and stood up to get some water. “I don’t understand why you put yourself through such things, honestly.”

“I genuinely like them!” Harry protested, eating some more. 

“Yeah,” Louis paused to swirl some water round in his mouth. “But would you not like a packet a crisps of more?”

“Maybe,” Harry admitted. “But these are better for you, so why not?”

“Why  _ not?  _ What about enjoying yourself?! What about living a little?” 

“It’s not as though I don’t eat crisps,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what you don’t get about trying to eat healthy.”

“Because it’s stupid,” Louis retorted, dropping his cup in the bin and turning back to the sofa. 

“How can you say that?” Harry asked, baffled. “You’re a doctor!”

“Well — you! God, _you’re_ such an idiot,” Louis replied, shaking his head and smiling, and then faltered. The words had come out like an endearment. 

Harry flushed, surprised, and his lashes fluttered as he glanced down at his hands. Thrown by his own intonation, Louis swallowed, and cleared his throat as he sat back down on the sofa. He was painfully aware that they had been in these very positions that night after the shift, when things had been a little too…intimate. 

This thing between them was new and uncertain, but it was just physical. Right? At least, it had to be. 

Harry lifted his gaze to look back at Louis, and there was something frightening in his eyes, so Louis leant forward and kissed him. He had no desire to deal with whatever was bubbling under the surface. 

“Gross,” he murmured, pulling back a bit to lick his lips, making a face. “You taste like those damn soya beans.”

Harry snorted, the moment safely disarmed. “Yeah, well, so do you.”

“I’m never trying your food again,” Louis vowed, grumpy as he lifted his hands to rest on Harry’s shoulders, shifting so the angle was better when he leant back in. 

_ “Yeah, that was great!” _

Louis and Harry had enough time at the sound of fast-approaching voices to jolt apart, scooting over to different sides of the sofa as Louis scrabbled for the remote to unmute the TV.

“God, one of the best,” Niall was saying. “Hey,  _ Towering Inferno!” _

“Ugh, turn that off,” Jesy wrinkled her nose, coming to stand behind their sofa. “I hate that film.”

“We were in the middle of watching it,” Harry protested, catching on quickly. 

“Yeah, it’s about to be the bit where that dickhead jumps on the chair thing and they all die,” Louis added.   


“Delightful,” Jade snorted, coming to plop herself down in between the two of them. “Well we were just talking about the funniest moments we’ve had.”

“Oh, damn!” Louis sat up, won over, and immediately muted the TV again. “Well then, it’s hands down gotta be Dick Balls.”

Harry made a confused face as Jade, Jesy and Niall all suddenly collapsed in laughter at the memory. 

“You what?” Harry asked, blinking at the lot of them. “What did you say?”

_ “Dick…Balls!”  _ Niall wheezed, bending over double. 

“Alright, alright,” Louis shifted his position, readying himself. “God, what a story. Okay, so I was on shift at the WIC, right? Only I was running late, you know, usual. And I’m panting, not looking, desperately trying to read the information as to why this guy’s come in, and I’m like ‘so sorry to keep you waiting!’— You know, reading as I speak— ‘so sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. …um, Mr. Balls?’”

“Oh my God,” Harry said, grinning. Jesy was cackling behind them. 

“And I, like, nearly choke with laughter,” Louis continued, already laughing around the words. “But I manage to make it, and I’m fucking glad I did because the next second I look up and it turns out Mr. Balls has the most morose face I have ever seen in my life.”

“You’re joking,” Harry pressed his lips together, laughter barely suppressed, chin in his palm as he listened. 

“Nope,” Louis shook his head, snorting a little. “He had like, eyes sagging downwards and a pinched mouth, and a crooked nose in this, like, sad and broken way.”

“God,” Harry momentarily broke, façade cracking as he laughed. 

“No, last time you said—” Jade interrupted, giggling, “Last time you said he had, like, skin with the pallor of death, or something.”

“Oh my God, yes,” Jesy agreed, slapping the top of the sofa. “Death or the plague, wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” Louis said again, grinning. “Like the palest, yellowest skin I’ve ever seen outside of a patient with jaundice. Like, this guy did  _ not  _ look like the sort of man who was easily amused, so. I was fucking glad I hadn’t laughed.”

“The best bit came later, though!” Niall continued, practically vibrating. “‘Cause Lou’s telling us this, and we’re all giggling along, but then he handed me the sheet as proof, and —  _ fuck —  _ his name was fucking Richard, wasn’t it? As in…as in  _ Dick.” _

“Dick Balls?” Harry asked, barely keeping it together. 

“Dick Balls!” Niall confirmed, and then broke down into wild donkey cackles, slapping at his knees. 

“I mean,” Jesy continued, wiping at her eyes. “It was the sort of joke that only came around once in a bloody lifetime. A blessing, a miracle…Dick Balls.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Harry claimed, looking suspicious even as he continued to snigger. “You’re telling me you met the most tragic looking man in the world…and his name was Dick Balls?”

At this point, Louis’ composure fully broke, and he was too busy bent double and wheezing with laughter to respond.

 

***

 

“We’ve got Ms. Shah waiting to see you,” the WIC receptionist was telling Louis the next day, handing him the form. “Something’s wrong with the little’un, she says.”

“Which one?” Louis asked, taking the form, but then nodded when he took in the written words. “Sara, right. Alright, I’ll be with her in a minute, just gotta finish the paperwork for the last one.”

The receptionist — Janet — nodded, turning back to her computer screen. Louis hurried to finish filling in the forms about why the last patient had come in (blood pressure check), before entering the examination room, clearing his throat.

“Ms. Shah,” he greeted, smiling politely. “How can I be of help?”

Sara was already sitting up on the bed, the paper covering crinkling as she swung her legs, while Anita stood beside her, body language slightly nervous.

“Sara’s got a bad cold,” she explained, shooting her daughter a glance. “I’m a little afraid that it might not be getting better.”

“Well, sometimes colds do take a little while to go away,” Louis said patiently, but stepped forward to take a closer look at Sara. Her nose was indeed red and sore-looking, no doubt from constant blowing, and her big dark eyes blinked at him a little sadly. 

“My throat hurts,” she complained, raspily, and Louis tutted sympathetically.

“That’s the worst,” he told her, grimacing. “But I can give you some throat soothers and recommend a home-remedy of honey and lemon. Can you tell me about your other symptoms?”

She nodded shyly, and lifted a small fist to rub at her eyes. “I’m sleepy more, and my nose won’t stop running. And last night I was sneezing too much to go to sleep. And, um, it hurts, up…up my nose?”

“Do you mean your sinuses?”

She pulled her eyebrows together into a frown, looking upset. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Louis soothed. “That’s alright. Does it hurt more when you tip your head forward?”

She nodded miserably. “I want to be better again.”

Louis had to suppress a small laugh at the pitiful picture she painted, and jutted out his bottom lip in a sympathetic pout. “I’m sure you’ll get better soon,” he assured her, before turning back to Anita. “About how long has she had the cold?”

“Six days?” Anita approximated. “But they’re supposed to clear up after a week, right? And Sara isn’t getting better. That’s a bad sign, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Louis assured her. “Some colds can last two weeks or more, and Sara might just have a bad case. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. If the cold isn’t showing signs of letting up once you’ve hit three weeks, or if she ever has any breathing difficulties beyond just a blocked nose, then you can bring her in again. That sound alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” Anita nodded, looking relieved. “You’re sure it’s nothing?”

“Just a nasty cold,” Louis confirmed. “Now let me get you those throat soothers.”

After his WIC shift, Louis conducted that catheterisation procedure on the newborn baby that had become one of their patients.  

“It’s definitely Tetralogy of Fallot,” he told Dr. Edwards afterwards, grimacing. “I think her pulmonary arteries just weren’t doing the job, so her heart developed additional vessels to compensate.”

“But those vessels didn’t do enough?” Dr. Edwards surmised.

“Yeah, and she doesn’t have a pulmonary valve either.”

“So she was just born suffocating,” Harry summed up, shaking his head. “She’ll need open heart surgery, then?”

“Looks like it,” Dr. Edwards agreed, sighing. “I’ll get Jess to schedule it in. Well, thanks, Lou. I better go check everything’s alright with Elsie, and then I’ve got a meeting with some of the higher-ups, gross. Harry, is it alright if I leave you to debrief Lucy’s parents?”

“No problem,” Harry answered, and reached down to grab his pile of stuff. Dr. Edwards left with a slightly harried smile, and Harry got up to follow. 

He touched Louis’ arm as he passed, his fingers just skimming the bend of Louis’ elbow, and Louis felt his skin break out in goosebumps at the touch. Harry shot him a slightly smug grin over his shoulder as he left, and Louis huffed indignantly around the pleasant squirming in his stomach. 

It was sort of weird, this thing where they regularly made out, but Louis didn’t want to stop. He kind of avoided thinking too long about it, because he knew on about every level that it was a bad idea, but he wanted to do it anyway, God help him. 

Shaking uncomfortable thoughts from his head, Louis decided he might go and read to Nirmala again, help her enjoy the book more. On his way to find her, however, he got sidetracked.

“Hey,  _ Lou!” _

It was Zayn, craning his neck and leaning haphazardly far over the edge of his desk, trying to get Louis’ attention — much to the chagrin of a nurse trying to tell him something.

Louis raised an eyebrow at him and made an inquisitive hand gesture, but Zayn just beckoned him over. 

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Zayn was saying distractedly to the nurse as Louis approached the desk, scrabbling through piles of paper on his desk and handing her one, before turning quickly to Louis.

“What is it?” Louis asked. “What’s so urgent?”

Zayn looked surprised, and then sheepish. “Uh,” he mumbled. “It’s not, um, actually that urgent? Do you have, like, pressing doctor stuff to do, then?”

Louis huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Well, not right this minute I guess. So if it’s not urgent, then what’s got you bellowing like there’s a fire?”

“I just,” Zayn swallowed, and glanced around them. “I just wanted to ask you something. I, like, I dunno. It was getting hard to concentrate, and I thought it might be better if I just asked you about it.”

Louis blinked at him expectantly, curious. “Well, go on then.”

Zayn cringed, and glanced down at his hands. “It’s sort of…awkward.”

“Zayn,” Louis rolled his eyes. “You just screeched my name to get me over here in the middle of a working day, and now you’re not even gonna spit it out?”

“Okay,” Zayn held up his hands in surrender, swallowing. “Alright, point taken. Um, shit. Okay, it’s…like, about Liam?”

Immediately, Louis was on guard. “Zayn…” he began, but Zayn hurried on.

“I know you can’t say anything! I know, I just…I’m going mad here, Lou. I thought you said…? Or at least, like, implied? But he’s barely given me the time of day. And I even texted him, tryna get stuff started, ‘cause I thought…and you know, a door swings both ways, but…well, nothing. I just don’t understand. It’s, like, it just sucks.”

Zayn trailed off with a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders, avoiding Louis’ eyes, and Louis felt his face soften in sympathy, torn.

“Yeah, I bet,” he said with a grimace. “Look, I’m sorry, mate. I shouldn’t have said anything to you, it was a complete accident, and I definitely wasn’t trying to guarantee that, like…you know. I can’t really…I dunno. I can’t really say anything proper, you know? It’s not my place. I just think, maybe stop fixating. If it happens, it happens. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Zayn groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought it up. I just…you know.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, still cut up about not being able to offer Zayn anything real. He could think of  _ one  _ thing that might take his mind off things, but he wasn’t really sure if it was worth it. 

Then Zayn sighed pathetically into his hands and Louis felt he really didn’t have a choice.

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered. “Zayn, mate, wanna hear some gossip?”

Zayn didn’t look up. “What?” he asked, muffled and toneless. 

“Me and Harry made out.”

Zayn’s head shot up.  _ “What?”  _ he said again, with decidedly more feeling.

“…multiple times.”

_ “What?!”  _ Zayn squeaked, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. Then, slowly, his face broke into a grinch-level grin. “I fucking  _ called it,”  _ he hissed, triumphant. “I fucking told you so, didn’t I? But HOOO boy, Louis never pays a lick of attention to what I say!” 

“It was out of the blue, alright,” Louis grumbled, uncomfortable.

“In what  _ world  _ was it out of the blue? Are you crazy?” Zayn shoved at his arm, still smirking. “You honestly didn’t see this coming? Mate, that’s some serious denial. You were all  _ over  _ him.”

“Not true,” Louis muttered, avoiding Zayn’s eyes. “And I’m already regretting telling you.”

“What can I say?” Zayn shrugged, leaning back to fold his arms. “I warned you that you’d regret giving me shit about Liam. I warned you that you and Harry were heading down a steamy path. But did Louis listen? Of course he didn’t.”

“I thought —”

_ “Louis and Harry, sitting in a tree,”  _ Zayn began to croon, and Louis’ stomach jolted.  _ “K-I-S-S—”  _

“Zayn!!” he squeaked, waving his arms in an unmistakable gesture of  _ stop.  _ “Mate, shut up! I don’t want the whole hospital to know, okay? Jesus.”

Zayn, thankfully, broke off, but continued to smirk.  _ “I-N-G,”  _ he mouthed. 

“I hate you,” Louis told him, sullen. (Although he couldn’t deny that Zayn looked a lot less tragic, now.) “I’m gonna go find someone who really appreciates me.”

He meant, for his own amusement, Nirmala, but at that moment Harry appeared in the doorway and waved him over. Zayn, seeing this, exploded into laughter, and his wheezing snorts followed Louis every grumpy step out of the hall. 

“Alright, Harold,” he intoned with a sigh. “Can I help?”

Harry looked amused. “Everything alright?”

“Just Zayn being a tosser,” Louis explained wearily, shooting Zayn a glare over his shoulder. “As usual.”

“Well, I’ve debriefed Lucy’s parents about the surgery,” Harry said, “so we’re pretty much done for our shift. But Niall told me to ask you if you wanna go to the pub tonight? He thinks we all should, says Liam and Leigh-Anne are already on board.”

“Yeah, brill,” Louis agreed. “Guess I should ask Z but…did you say Liam’s coming?”

Harry nodded, grimacing. “Guess that’d be kinda awkward, huh?”

“Niall fill you in?” Louis guessed, and Harry nodded.

“I hope they get together soon,” he said, voice a little wistful. “I think both of them need it.”

Louis couldn’t help but snort, a little, embarrassingly charmed. “Yeah, that makes two of us. I’ll ask Zayn, then.”

Zayn’s expression shuttered when Louis explained the situation, but he agreed to come along anyway, looking resigned. Louis hated that there was nothing he could do to fix this.

  
  


***

 

“You guys all coming to my party, then?”

“Party?” Harry asked, tilting his head. Leigh-Anne looked surprised.

“Fuck, did nobody invite you? God, I’ve been all over the place with organisation this year.  _ Yeah,  _ I always throw a Christmas party! All the doctors and emergency services come, and a few of my other friends as well.”

“Not including, obviously, the people who have shifts on the night,” Jesy clarified, taking a sip of her beer. “It’s sort of luck of the draw who turns up.”

“It’s a right laugh,” Dr. Edwards added. “Everyone gets smashed and sings  _ All I Want For Christmas Is You  _ about a million times.”

“So you in?” Leigh-Anne finished, bright.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, looking pleased. “Yeah, definitely.”

“You want us to bring anything, Leigh?” Liam asked, scratching idly at his nose. “Like, beer, or something?”

“Oh, right!” Leigh-Anne laughed, clearly already slightly tipsy. “I was actually thinking I’d do potluck this time! You know, my jerk chicken was amazing last year, but it was such a drag making food for so many people. I just don’t think I’m built for that kind of stress, you know? So if everyone could bring their own food, that’d be amazing.”

“But what if everyone else makes gross stuff?” Jesy asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to spend the night trying to stomach other people’s dodgy turkey salads.”

“Then make something good,” Leigh-Anne countered, and stuck out her tongue. “I’m supplying the venue and the alcohol, the least you lot can do is bring the bloody food!”

“Don’t worry,” Harry grinned. “I’m a great cook.”

“Well I’m not,” Louis weighed in, frowning. “Can’t we just order pizza?”

“I’m with Lou,” Zayn said, quietly. “Potluck’s too much of a risk.”

“Oi,” Leigh-Anne crossed her arms. “Who’s fucking party is it, again? I don’t see you doing the cleanup, Malik, so you don’t get to weigh in on the planning.”

“Alright, alright,” Jesy held up her hands. “We’ll do your freaking potluck. God, a right diva this one, isn’t she?”

Leigh-Anne huffed, hitting Jesy good-naturedly on the arm as she cackled. 

“Hey, Perrie,” Liam nudged Dr. Edwards, speaking in a conspiratory voice. “Don’t look now, but I think that guy at the bar’s totally checking you out.”

Dr. Edwards’ head immediately whirled round to see, despite Liam’s advice. “Ooh," she cooed. "I think you might be right. He’s fit.”

The guy, who looked faintly Italian, offered her a charming smile and took a sip of his drink. 

“In that case, lads,” Dr. Edwards continued, turning back and running her hands through her hair to give it some volume, “I think this is the point in the evening where I leave you. And don’t start that chicks before dicks shit, because there’s a whole lot of you and I’m not really offering anything to the conversation.”

“Pez, will you get me another drink if you’re getting up?” Jade asked, offering an innocent smile.

“No,” Dr. Edwards sighed. “Because I’m not planning on coming back.”

“Aw, come on. It’ll only take a second, and you can get yourself a refill, too.”

“Jade, for Christ’s sake, why do you always do this?” Dr. Edwards complained. “I don’t see why you think it’s so funny to ruin my dates.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about!” Jade protested, although her failure to keep a straight face suggested otherwise. “You can just pop over and get me a drink, no big!”

“If you’re not offering big exaggerated winks and thumbs up from across the bar so the guy thinks I’m a nutter, then you’re coming and throwing an arm around me and insisting ‘jerrie is real’. You keep scaring off all the cute guys!” 

“But jerrie  _ is  _ real,” Jade insisted, giggling slightly around the words. “I’m only keeping creeps away from my girlfriend!”

“And then the next morning you’re begging me for details over  _ Whatsapp _ ,” Dr. Edwards continued, crossing her arms grumpily. “But you can’t have the bloomin’ best of both worlds! I’m gonna get that guy’s number, and you can get  _ yourself _ a drink.” She stood up, straightening her skirt, and began to make her way over to the guy.

“Aw, honey, don’t be like that,” Jade called, openly laughing now, and Jesy offered her a high-five as Dr. Edwards flipped the whole table the bird behind her back. 

“If you want, Jade,” Louis began, taking in the empty state of his own pint glass, “I can get you another drink? I think I need a top-up myself.”

“I’ll come with,” Harry said, beginning to get up. “Anyone else want another drink?”

After taking everyone else’s orders, Harry and Louis got up to approach the barman, noting with amusement where Dr. Edwards was batting her long, false lashes at her guy, who looked more than affected. Then Louis turned his gaze back to their table, and felt his stomach sink at the sorry sight Zayn depicted, looking down at his phone and pointedly not at where Liam was sitting across the table, chatting loudly to Niall. 

“I feel like we ought to do something,” Harry said, low and in Louis’ ear. Louis suppressed a light shudder, swallowing and reminding himself to focus.

“What could we do?” he asked instead. “I think they just have to work things out for themselves.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Harry conceded, offering a distracted smile as the bartender slid another beer across the table. “It’s sad, though.”

Across the room Liam’s eyes slid, seemingly without intention, over to where Zayn sat, quiet and oblivious. He swallowed, smile slipping, before looking away.

“I’m sorry, are we forgetting how big Jesy’s hair was when she first started working at the hospital?” Leigh-Anne was snorting when they returned to the table. “It was real classy.”

“Oi, piss off,” Jesy retorted, amused. “Remember when you thought it was a good idea to dye your hair magenta?”

“Here’re the drinks, then, lads,” Louis said, setting them down. “What’re we talking about now?”

“Bad life decisions,” Niall informed him, laughing. “Luckily for me,  _ I  _ never made any.”

“Yeah, only because you’ve had the same hair since you were 12 years old,” Jesy pointed out, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen the facebook pictures, don’t try and deny it.”

“Also, mate,” Jade chimed in, wincing. “You went through a pretty dodgy trainer phase.”

Niall held up his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright, point taken. I’ll watch my mouth next time.”

“Okay, but has anyone brought up Liam’s straightened-hair phase?” Louis spoke up, smirking at Liam’s immediate indignation. “Or, even better, when he had a full head of curls.”

“You wanna start something, Tommo?” Liam threatened, miming rolling up his sleeves. “‘Cause I got my fair share of memories I could bring up.”

“Pah!” Louis scoffed. “You got no dirt on me, Payno.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember summer ‘09?” 

“Shit,” Louis conceded. “Okay, maybe a little dirt.”

“Not to mention the suspenders phase,” Jade piled on, teasing. “And that haircut.”

“God,” Louis groaned, filled with terrible memories. “Can we not?”

“Weren’t your pulling jeans bright fucking red?”

“Oh my God,” Harry looked positively gleeful, grinning at the news. “Were they actually?”

“I think Louis’ worst life decision was the decision to stop growing,” Zayn chimed in quietly from the side, a gleam in his eyes, and the table exploded in  _ oooh! _ s.

“Savage!” Niall cried appreciatively, and Jesy leaned over to wordlessly high five Zayn, laughing too hard to speak. Louis scowled.

“Very funny,” he deadpanned, taking a mouthful of his beer. “‘Cause you’re six foot then, are you Zayn?”

“He’s taller than you,” Harry pointed out, grinning. 

“Easy for you to say,” Louis sniffed, crossing his arms. “Bet you came out of the womb freakishly tall and all.”

“I’m, like, really not that tall,” Harry told him, amused. “You’re just short.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis huffed. “What is this? Insult Tommo day?”

“‘Course,” Harry agreed readily. “Favourite day of the year. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You little shit,” Louis found himself begrudgingly amused, his smile lingering on his face. 

Abruptly, Zayn was clearing his throat. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, and then swallowed. “Hey, um, guys? I don’t wanna be a downer, but I think I might, you know, head home.”

Jade frowned. “Aw, no, why?”

“Yeah, the night’s only getting started,” Leigh-Anne pouted. “What you heading home for?”

“I’m just,” he paused for a long moment, and then shrugged. “I’m just tired, I guess? Yeah.”

Liam shifted, avoiding both Louis and Zayn’s eyes. Zayn cleared his throat again.

“Yeah,” he repeated, unnecessarily. Jesy offered a sympathetic tilt of her mouth, which only seemed to make Zayn more uncomfortable.

But then Liam spoke. “You should — ” he broke off, mouth working, and then swallowed. “You should stay. If you want.”

For several long moments, no one spoke. All eyes were flitting between Zayn and Liam, awkwardly waiting for one of them to speak up. Then, slowly and a little shakily, Zayn nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed softly. “Yeah, I’ll stay a little longer.”

Their table seemed to give out a collective sigh of relief, and then Leigh-Anne was perking up.

“You know what I think we need?” she announced. “Shots.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Niall agreed without hesitation, and before Louis could warily question the wisdom of such a decision, he had already got up to get some. Oh, God. 

Zayn swallowed, falling back against the back of his chair, and shot Louis a wry little grimace. It looked like it was going to be a long night, at least for Zayn.

Yet, if Louis was shamefully honest with himself, he got distracted. Niall started talking about football with great, enthusiastic hand gestures, drink sloshing over the table, and Louis was completely drawn into the petty arguments and raucous agreements. He drank just this side of too much, laughed just that little bit too loud, and didn’t have the presence of mind to make sure Zayn was okay. 

At least, not until a couple hours later when Liam and Niall got up to take a piss, and the girls were collapsed in giggles at some inside joke he wasn’t privy to, and he suddenly had a moment to remember himself and — God, he was a shit friend. He craned his neck, searching for a sign of Zayn and fully expecting to see a dejected form slumped over alone somewhere, probably staring blankly at a phone or watching the bathroom door for any sign of Liam. Hell, maybe Zayn had just given up and gone home, after all. Louis wouldn’t be able to blame him — and to think he wouldn’t have even  _ noticed.  _

But actually…no. Louis felt guilty relief flood his stomach as he finally located Zayn, who was (thankfully) not alone. Harry was standing next to him at the pool table, grinning and holding a cue as Zayn made a poor shot. Zayn didn’t look dejected at all — he looked grumpy at the outcome of his terrible move — but his eyes were bright as he snarked something back at whatever teasing comment Harry had made.

Louis’ panic subsided as quick as it had come, leaving him dizzy with a sudden surge of affection. Harry must have said something funny, then, because Zayn’s face broke into a laugh, his tongue pressed against his front teeth as his nose scrunched up, and Harry looked a little proud. 

The room around Louis wobbled a little as he stood up quickly, but he was steadfast in making his way over to the pool table, where Harry looked up and smiled in response.  _ (Louis wasn’t sure when they started to react to each other’s presence like that but…God, he wasn’t complaining.) _

“Come to witness me crushing Zayn at pool?” Harry asked with a smirk, and Zayn rolled his eyes.

“You fumble one shot, and suddenly he’s the champion,” he sighed. “Doctors, amirite?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy, mate,” Louis pointed out, grinning. “Having fun, then?”

“I’m just as shit at this game as I’ve always been,” Zayn said, though he didn’t seem to mind. “I just don’t think I’ve got the coordination.”

“Which works out well for me,” Harry added. “Because I am painfully,  _ painfully  _ average at it.”

“Oh really?” Louis laughed. “Well, Harold, you should know that I’m incredible at it. We’ll have to play some time so I can wipe the floor with you.”

“Pssh,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I bet you say that about every game you play. Maybe you’d be surprised at my unexpected skill.”

“What happened to ‘painfully average’?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sorry, there were  _ two _ ‘painfully’s.”

Harry offered a shrug, laughing a little. “What can I say? You’ve awakened my competitive side. Now I’m gearing up to take you down a peg or two.”

Zayn cleared his throat, looking amused. “You guys wanna take the floor?” 

“Oh,” Louis blinked, and then waved a hand. “No, no, sorry. You two were in the middle of a game? I’ll watch. And critique.”

Harry shook his head, snorting, but Zayn offered Louis the cue. “No, really, Lou,” he said. “I actually wouldn’t mind going home now — I’m  _ fine, _ it’s just late — so. By all means, battle it out.”

“You sure?” Louis asked, feeling the beginnings of guilt again, but Zayn just shoved the cue into his hands.

“I’m tired, mate,” he said, clearly. “I had a good night in the end, but I wanna go to bed, alright? Chill.”

“Okay,” Louis conceded, but pulled him into a hug. “Try not to die on the way home; I don’t think I could fit a funeral into my busy schedule.”

“Dick,” Zayn said fondly. He gave Harry a similar quick hug, and went over to the table to say goodbye to the others. There was a briefly awkward moment regarding saying night to Liam, but it was over quickly, and before long Zayn was shoving his hands in his coat pockets and shuffling out of the pub.

When Louis turned back to Harry he was looking at Liam with a small frown, teeth working his bottom lip and thoughts no doubt tying themselves in knots over Zayn’s feelings. 

Louis couldn't help but feel a little bowled over by how lovely Harry was. Where Louis had essentially abandoned his best mate, Harry had stepped forward and made sure Zayn was okay. And now, even when Zayn had left, he was still clearly concerned and not at all eager to get on with his own night. Louis, just…it was a lot.

“Hey,” he said, and it came out unusually soft for a pub atmosphere. Harry turned to look at him, curious, and Louis grabbed his hand. “Come with me,” he said, any thought of a game of pool forgotten.

Wasting no time and not bothering to clarify, Louis dragged Harry through the maze of haphazard, slightly sticky tables until they reached the shitty little beer garden, which was illuminated by the strangely beautiful glowing ends of several people’s cigarettes. Here he paused, hovering in the freezing cold next to the grubby brick wall, and felt the warmth of Harry’s hand all the more by contrast. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asked in a low, lilting voice, and he turned Louis at the waist so that they were looking at each other. Louis allowed himself a moment to take in the way Harry’s eyes reflected the glowing orange spots, the enticing shape of his mouth in the dim light, before he tugged him down into a kiss. 

Harry made a slightly surprised ‘mmph’ noise into Louis’ mouth before kissing back, and after a moment Louis pulled away with a no doubt drunkenly-silly smile. 

“What was that for?” Harry asked, the corners of his mouth turning up.

Louis shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels a little. “I was just thinking,” he drawled slowly, “that I like you a lot better like this.”

“‘Like this’?” Harry repeated, tilting his head with an escaping smile. 

“Yeah, like. Now as opposed to, earlier. When I found you insufferable.”

Harry let out a throaty chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “I think you just insulted me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Louis defended himself, laughing a little. “I just mean…it’s easier to see why everyone likes you when we’re not fighting over something stupid.”

He paused, biting his bottom lip as he hesitated, but then went ahead with it.

“I guess I sort of feel like I should apologise for picking fights with you. I’ve been told I was unfair.”

“Hey,” Harry protested, softly, and gave a cute little frown. “If you’re apologising, then so am I. I mean, I probably should have just let you make your own decisions.”

At that, Louis suddenly smirked. “I didn’t say I was actually apologising,” he pointed out. “Just what I  _ should  _ do.”

In response, Harry huffed out a laugh, and leant forward to press a chaste kiss to Louis’ mouth. “Then, good,” he decided. “Neither of us is apologising.”

“Feels right,” Louis agreed. It was all too easy to lean up and kiss him again. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains reference to past, off-screen (minor) character death, so just be wary if you think that's something that might affect you!

The night of Leigh-Anne’s party, Louis turned up with a half-hearted, store-bought, ready-made pizza. Leigh-Anne, standing glamorous and beautiful in the doorway, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“You spend long on that?” she asked pointedly, and Louis smirked.

“Just hours,” he claimed, affecting exhaustion. “Worked my fingers to the bone, I did.”

“Uh huh,” she rolled her eyes, taking the pizza. “Well, at least you brought  _ something.  _ Zayn showed up with nothing but the lint in his pockets. And a box of cigarettes.”

“That’s Zayn alright,” Louis grinned. “But I mean, come on, Leigh-Anne. No one’s  _ actually  _ gonna bring anything proper.”

“The girls brought actual food,” Leigh-Anne retorted, leading him through the festively-decorated sitting room to place his pizza in the kitchen. “Look,” she gestured at the admittedly delicious-looking display already laid out on the counter.

“Okay,” Louis conceded. “How’s this? None of the  _ guys  _ are actually gonna bring something proper.”

Ten minutes later, Louis stood firmly corrected. Harry was beaming proudly as Leigh-Anne drooled over his boeuf bourguignon, gesturing for other people to come and admire it.

“God, I better have my wits about me when it’s time to eat if I’m gonna get any of this,” Jesy laughed. “I think every person in this room is eyeing it up, Harry.”

“You actually made this?” Louis asked, skeptical, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, I like cooking! And, you know, it’s potluck. What’d you make?”

“‘Make’ is a strong word,” Dr. Edwards interrupted, laughing. “Louis just bought a cold pizza.”

“You warm it up in the oven!” Louis defended himself. “It’s a delicious classic! Also, for the record, Harry doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, frowning through perpetual amusement.

“I  _ mean _ , Harold, that the fact that you brought fancy homemade beef stew doesn’t negate my previous statement that none of the guys would bring anything proper, because you don’t count.”

“I don’t count as a guy?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Not in this case you don’t! You brought fancy stew to a party!”

“Aren’t you enforcing gender stereotypes a little bit there, Louis?” Harry asked, mouth twitching.

“Aren’t I…what?” Louis frowned, thrown. 

“So you think Harry’s the only guy who’s gonna bring something legit then, Louis?” Jade clarified, grinning. 

“I bet you two quid I’m right,” Louis confirmed, turning back to her and folding his arms pointedly. Of course, it was at that moment that the doorbell rang. The group turned to watch expectantly as Leigh-Anne hurried to open it, revealing Liam, pink-nosed from the cold and bearing a metal dish wrapped in tin foil.

“I brought casserole!” he announced, jovial. 

“Two quid, was it Lou?” Jade elbowed him in the ribs, laughing, as Louis stared at Liam.

“You made a  _ casserole?” _ he repeated, flabbergasted. “When have you ever made a casserole in your  _ life?” _

“Today was the first time, actually,” Liam revealed, handing Leigh-Anne the dish so he could take off his coat. “I’m not sure I followed all the instructions correctly, but I think it turned out alright. I mean, how wrong can you go with a bit of raw chicken?”

(Behind him, Leigh-Anne raised an eyebrow and shot the covered-dish a wary glance.)

“Yeah…sure…” Louis agreed, vaguely, still taken aback by Liam’s sudden sojourn into the world of cooking. Then he cleared his throat. “Alright, I stand corrected,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s not a guy thing, so much as a lazy thing. Although — what about Niall? Ol’ reliable, doesn’t-give-a-fuck Niall?”

“Oh, Niall already arrived,” Dr. Edwards told him. “He brought a chicken salad; it’s over there. Whipped up some sort of honey-mustard dressing, too. And croutons.”

“God dammit,” Louis sighed, as everyone (except the confused Liam) laughed. “Look, I’m gonna go get a drink and stop making stupid statements.”

“There’s a lad,” Dr. Edwards approved, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t forget you owe me two quid!” Jade called after him, and Louis couldn’t help but break and laugh a little even as he shook his head.

 

***

 

Leigh-Anne’s Christmas party was always a great night. She transformed her boxy flat into a slightly dazzling array of fairy lights, tinsel, and mistletoe, and had pulsing remixes of naff Christmas songs blaring out across the throngs of people giggling over green and red cocktails and plates of mince pies. In previous years it had been somewhere between a dinner and a house party, with piles of empty wine bottles gradually stacking up and delicious smells from the kitchen, but this time — with the potluck — it was a slightly more slapdash affair. With only the one microwave and a relatively small oven, the foods that were to be heated up had to be done one at a time, and accordingly there were lots of slightly tipsy arguments over different platters. There were also people bending over double to wheeze with laughter when Jesy accidentally knocked over a sitting room lamp in an attempt to access Harry’s boeuf bourguignon. 

“Quite the popular lad, aren’t we Harold?” Louis teased him as Jade tried to stop laughing long enough to tug Jesy up off the floor. 

“What can I say?” Harry shrugged, smirking. “I make a mean stew.”

_ Maybe you could make it for me one day.  _ Thankfully, before Louis could do anything as immensely stupid as saying something like that, Liam had appeared at their side, tucking into some of Louis’ store-bought pizza. 

“Alright, lads?” he greeted them through a mouthful. “I gotta admit, Lou, your ‘lazy’ pizza’s pretty fucking good. It’s a lot better than Niall’s salad, that’s for sure.”

Louis grinned, puffing out his chest. “See? If there’s one thing the Tommo knows, it’s party food. Drunk people like pizza, and that’s a fact.”

“No one’s eating my casserole, though,” Liam continued, his face falling. “I worked really hard on it and everything.”

“Hey, I’m sure everyone’s just blown away by the extent of the options,” Harry assured him. “Did you see that curry someone made? And I think there was sushi, too. People’ll tuck in once the initial frenzy dies down.”

“Yeah, you should’ve just made something more eye-catching,” Louis said vaguely, reaching over to steal an olive from Liam’s plate. “Then I’m sure everyone’d be eating it.”

“Yeah, probably,” Liam sighed, but then seemed to perk up. “Do you two want some? I just want to hear what people think.”

“Uhhh,” Louis floundered, and cursed his own decision to try and spare Liam’s feelings. Where had that even come from, anyway? Never again. Next time he wasn’t gonna play along with Harry’s white lie, he was just gonna come forward and explain that the casserole looked fucking disgusting and Liam should never cook again. 

“Thing is, Liam,” Harry tried, valiantly. “Me and Louis just ate the most obscene amount of pasta. And then about thirty cocktail sausages each.”

“I can confirm,” Louis played along quickly, patting his stomach as though painfully full and hoping Liam didn’t pay much attention to the olive he’d literally just stolen. “And that was on  _ top  _ of all the lamb chops.”

“And the poppadoms,” Harry continued, and then let out a groan. “God — why did I eat so many poppadoms?”

“It’s that yellow dipping sauce that gets you,” Louis shook his head. “It’s so good. Evilly good.”

“So, I really would,” Harry sighed. “But I honestly think I might explode if I put anything else inside me.”

“And we haven’t even got to puddings,” Louis complained, shooting the food table a glance and hoping Liam wouldn’t follow them around all night so he could actually take some food. “I hope I never eat again!”

“Alright,” Liam stopped them, rolling his eyes. “I get the picture. I’ll go see if Niall wants some.”

“Ah yeah!” Louis felt his eyes light up. “And don’t let him say no, mind! You know that guy’s got a bottomless stomach!”

Harry snorted as Liam went off through the crowd to locate Niall, and Louis turned to look at him with respect. 

“I didn’t realise you could act like that, Styles,” he noted, impressed. “Where you been hiding those skills?”

Harry shook his head with a laugh. “We sure are one hell of a team, huh? Think we got out of that quite nicely.”

“God, can you imagine if he’d actually made us eat it?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Think I’d prefer to go through life not experiencing salmonella, thanks.”   
“For sure.”

At that moment the song changed from the slightly oxymoronic upbeat version of  _ Do They Know It’s Christmas?  _ that had been playing to the one, the only, the ultimate classic. Harry’s face lit up.

_ “Yas! Mariah!”  _ someone screeched from elsewhere in the room, and although Louis snorted Harry was already swaying along, mouthing the words with such a look of intense musical concentration he seemed hardly aware of his surroundings, and Louis’ snort turned into a full laugh at the sight.

The intro dragged on with Louis watching, barely holding it together as Harry mouthed along, wagging the occasional finger and moving his eyebrows dramatically, eyes closed, until finally the bells came in. The room filled with the sound of everyone screaming along the words and at this point Harry broke into laughter, shimmying his hips towards Louis.

_ “I DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS!”  _ he shouted. 

_ “THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED!”  _ Louis bellowed back, mimicking the shimmy. 

One of Leigh-Anne’s vaguely familiar friends clapped them both on the back, grinning tipsily as she chorused,  _ “And I……” _

_ “DON’T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS,”  _ Harry and Louis screamed together.  _ “UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE...” _

The rest of the song progressed in much the same way, with most of the people shout-singing as loud as they could to the effect of much squeaking, although Dr. Edwards impressively pretty much managed to nail every note. By the end of it Louis was distinctly out of breath from trying to laugh and sing at the same time, and the sight of Harry’s bright, slightly glazed eyes was making his stomach flip pleasantly, along with the faint buzz that was down to Leigh-Anne’s cocktails. 

“Did you ever actually eat any food?” Harry asked him in the glowing aftermath, the corners of his mouth still turned up. 

“Nope,” Louis replied with a grin. He felt like his whole world was centred in on the slight flush to Harry’s cheeks, the stupid way his hair had flopped onto one side. “Think we can manage to get some without Liam noticing?”

Harry laughed and shrugged. “I’m willing to risk it,” he said, and tugged Louis by the hand through the crowd of people and towards the food table. It was probably a measure to ensure they didn’t get separated, but Louis felt his smile grow regardless. He didn’t want to think about why. 

“What do you want?” Harry called over his shoulder, eyeing the ramshackle display, and Louis shrugged. At this moment he felt like he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t care!” he grinned. Harry laughed again, seemingly for no reason, and piled random bits and bobs on a large plate for them to share. 

“Summer is totally my favourite season,” he announced, turning back with the food. “But  _ fuck  _ I love Christmas!” 

Louis rolled his eyes, pinching some rice off the plate and shoving it in his mouth, but then he paused and considered Harry as he chewed. “I don’t really know anything about you,” he observed slowly, swallowing. “Isn’t that weird?”

Harry leant back a little and studied him, a soft smile on his face. “I guess it is.”

There was a fractured pause as Louis wondered what he could ask, what he wanted to know, but then Harry gave the rest of the room a glance and lowered his voice.

“We should probably leave the food table though in case Liam catches us.”

“God, good point,” Louis shuddered, turning his head to see if he could spot Liam. He just about made out the side of his face through the crowd, holding a beer and chatting to someone, and a little bit behind him was Niall, shooting Liam hesitant glances as he eased himself away, a slight expression of disgust clear on his face. “Shit,” Louis laughed. “I wonder if Niall actually ate the casserole?” 

“If he gets sick I’m totally telling him you told Liam he’d eat it,” Harry promised with a smirk, and Louis squawked indignantly. 

“Betrayal!” he scolded, turning back to aggressively grab a roast potato off the plate. “Here I was thinking I could trust you.” 

“A dangerous affair, I’m sure,” Harry wiggled his eyebrows, and Louis broke and snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, then,” he beckoned, mouth full of potato. “Let’s go find somewhere to eat.” And talk, maybe. If he didn’t focus on why exactly he wanted to.

Which is how he ended up hearing all about Harry’s big sister, Gemma, and how amazing she was. How Harry had slept in her room for a week after she went away to uni, and how she liked to routinely send him pictures of her cat which he would rate out of ten. He heard about the village where Harry had grown up, and he laughed so hard his ribs hurt at a story surrounding Harry’s Year 8 RE teacher that did not bear repeating. 

And then, likewise, he told Harry about his sisters and his little brother, and basked in the fond expression clear in Harry’s eyes at the description of the baby twins and their recent trials with hiccups. They compared the GCSEs they had taken and went down a long musical tangent, and although they eventually moved back into the main room and the high-spirited crowd of people, Louis was interested in one person only. 

The night dragged on into the early hours of the morning, and the crowd thinned as one by one people called it quits and drunkenly stumbled out to call a taxi. By the time it was just the main hospital gang, the high energy of the alcohol had faded into pleasant drowsiness, the mood of the room slipping low into tired contentment. Leigh-Anne had collapsed artfully over Jade and Dr. Edwards’ laps on the sofa, and was interchanging between sleepily bemoaning the state of her flat and commenting that it had been a good party.

“Don’t you guys think so?” she asked for about the seventh time, lazily dragging her hand across the floorboards where it dangled down. 

_ “Yes,  _ babes,” Jesy rolled her eyes, fondly amused. “We all had a good night.”

“Sometimes I think it’s nice when it’s just us lot, too, though,” Jade said, looking around at them with a smile from where her head was tipped back against the sofa cushions. “Like I had a riot, but sometimes it’s the moments in the downtime that’re the best.”

“I know what’cha mean,” Niall agreed, plopping down cross-legged on the floor. “Just a group of my favourite people and some good times.” 

“This is beautiful, guys,” Louis observed with a wry smile, and Harry turned his head to smirk at him. “I feel like we should all start singing, or something. God bless us, every one.”

Liam chuckled and hummed a few notes of  _ Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas,  _ but Jesy let out a noise of protest. 

“Please, no,” she groaned. “No more singing…my ears are gonna be ringing with the sound of Niall bellowing  _ Fairytale of New York  _ for days.”

“I dunno what you’re complaining about,” Niall grinned. “It’s a cracking tune.”

“For real, though,” Jade continued, even through a reluctant laugh. “I never thought I’d make such good friends at the hospital, did I? I knew I’d have some mates, yeah, you always do — but I didn’t think it would be like this, so…well. I’m happy as lambs, aren’t I?”

“Aww,” Dr. Edwards turned her head to grin soppily at her. “Jade, you sweetheart.”

The others chorused their appreciation as Jade huffed out a giggle and ducked her head. 

“I love you guys,” Leigh-Anne sighed from the sofa, and the air was thick with a hazy, full serenity. “Merry Christmas.”

“I feel sick,” Zayn said, suddenly.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. We’re all disgusting and sappy; you’re too cool for school. You know, Zayn, you should try opening your heart.”

“No,” Zayn groaned, placing a wobbly hand to his stomach. “I mean I genuinely feel sick. I think it was Liam’s casserole.”

“What?” Liam blinked, eyes big and confused, while Louis turned to look at Zayn fully, face stretching into a grin. 

“No fucking way,” he laughed. “Did you eat his dodgy chicken?”

“Dodgy?” Liam repeated, face falling, and Harry gave a pointed clearing of his throat. Before Louis could even consider trying to spare Liam’s feelings, Zayn retched and pressed a hand to his mouth.

“No!” Leigh-Anne shrieked, suddenly awake and shooting up like a jack-in-the-box. “Not in my flat you’re not! I finally had no one puke and I’m not having you ruin that!”

Zayn tried to say something in reply but it was muffled by both his hand and the rippling gag that followed, his face turning ashen. 

“Out! Out!” Leigh-Anne ordered, pointing frantically to the front door, but Harry was already at Zayn’s side and cautiously putting an arm around him. 

“Bathroom,” he said firmly and more logically, giving Zayn a tug to lift him up. Zayn groaned but followed along, steps a little shaky. Louis had just about got his untimely amusement under control when Zayn made a disgusting belching noise, and then vomit splashed down onto the floorboards. 

“Whoa!” Harry jumped back, face scrunching up in disgust as he tried to keep his boots clear, and Louis was back to hysterical laughter at the sight, even as he stood up to go give Zayn a hand. 

“I can’t believe you ate the fucking casserole,” he cackled, aware he was being a shit but...like... _ c’mon.  _ Love makes us do crazy things indeed. 

“Gross!” Leigh-Anne was crying in the background, as Niall laughed into his hand. “My floor!”

“You alright, mate?” Harry asked tentatively, but Zayn shook his head and stepped over the puddle of sick to get to the actual bathroom. Louis followed suit, unable to suppress another cackle as he passed the vomit, but helped Zayn lift the toilet seat up and patted his back as he let forth another violent stream of sick. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he told him, shaking his head with a grin as he rubbed Zayn’s back, and Zayn somehow found a moment in between dislodging his vital organs to shoot him a death glare, string of orange saliva dangling from his mouth. 

“Was it really my casserole?” Liam asked, suddenly standing uncertainly in the bathroom doorway with a look of intense guilt. “Is this my fault?”

Louis grimaced at him and shrugged, while Zayn groaned again. (Although it was hard to tell if that was in reply or simply…because.) 

“God, Zayn, I’m sorry,” Liam said guiltily, and made to come into the bathroom. Zayn made a severe noise of protest, and Louis’ smile faded a little as he thought about what this must be like from Zayn’s perspective, reduced to a disgusting, pale and sweaty mess in front of the guy he was sort of madly in love with.

“Hey, now,” Louis stopped Liam with a hand in the air. “We don’t wanna crowd him.” 

“But it was my sodding chicken that did this!” Liam argued, eyebrows pulled into a pathetic frown. “Shouldn’t I be the one to comfort him?” 

More sounds of Zayn’s vomit filled the room, and Louis winced. 

“Uh, frankly, mate,” he said, slightly distracted. “I think it might be best if you gave him some space.”

“Oh, right,” Liam replied slowly, and lowered his gaze to the floor. “Right, of course.”

“Ugh,” Zayn managed to get out, resting his forehead on his arm. “Gross, ugh.”

“You want some water, mate?” Louis asked tentatively, a grin threatening the edges of his mouth again. 

“Fuck you,” Zayn rasped, and then puked again. Louis chuckled, and turned to tell Liam that he could help by getting some water, but he was no longer standing in the doorway. 

“Water?” Harry offered instead, and Louis nodded, frowning a little. Then Zayn made a particularly disgusting noise, and his attention was drawn back into the more pressing situation. Gross.

 

***

 

“God, why  _ me?”  _ Zayn lamented on their next shift, aggressively stapling some sheets together. “Why does everything terrible happen to  _ me?”  _

“Possibly you were an awful person in a previous life?” Louis suggested, leaning over the desk. Zayn lifted his gaze to level Louis with a deadly glare. 

“You’re no help at all, tosser,” he muttered. “You just sit and fucking laugh, don’t you. Prick.”

“I can’t help it,” Louis shrugged, snorting. “You’re a very entertaining friend to have, Z, ‘cause your life is such a catastrophe.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Zayn told him, voice low and monotonous, eyes unseeing. “But I’m too depressed about my own situation to even hit you. I mean — Christ, this must be some kind of record, surely? I think I’ve reached a new level of human fuck up. I’m like...I dunno, I’m like fucking Bridget Jones, aren’t I? But there’s no bloody Colin Firth waiting at the end of the sodding film.”

Louis paused, and raised an eyebrow. “Did you really just compare yourself to Bridget Jones?”

_ “Ugh,”  _ Zayn groaned again, raising his eyes heavenwards. “Sometimes I think just about everything that could have gone wrong in my life has. I’m a complete and utter walking disaster, you know? But then — ”

And here he faltered, and his eyes became far away in their new level of self-pity.  _ Here we go,  _ Louis thought, wryly fond.

“—then I realise how selfish I’m being, you know? Like, there are children  _ starving _ , and shit. And here I am being a baby just because I puked in front of Liam? God, what the hell is wrong with me, Louis? Like…God, I dunno.” 

He paused for a moment, eyes still unseeing and distraught, as Louis looked on with resigned amusement. 

“And then —!” Zayn continued, face screwing up. “And then I think about  _ ugly  _ people, you know? And like, they can’t control it — but everyone hates on them!”

Okay, that was enough.

“Zayn, you beautiful son of a bitch,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Would you get it the hell together?”

“What the hell am I supposed to  _ do,  _ Louis? I essentially told Liam his chicken was awful to his face and then threw it all up mere seconds later. In front of him!” 

“I dunno, man,” Louis held up his hands. “But you need to suck it up, or something, ‘cause your whining has reached a new level. Besides, he’s the one at fault for not fully cooking his chicken, isn’t he? Fucking idiot. I reckon he should be the one freaking out.”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn swallowed, deflating. “Life isn’t fair like that, is it?”

“Hey,” Louis softened his tone. “It’s gonna be fine, okay? I dunno what’s gonna happen, but it’ll all blow over no matter what. You just need to stop escalating the situation.”

For a moment Zayn held his gaze, eyebrows drawn together, and then he sighed. “Fuck, yeah. Alright. Piss off, then, so I can do my job.”

Louis shook his head with a smile. “I dunno, here I am, offering my pearls of wisdom, and what do I get…?”

Zayn made a shooing gesture, turning to his computer, and Louis walked off with a laugh. 

 

***

 

It was a little bit later on, in a rare free moment, that Louis realised that he’d never actually gotten around to reading Nirmala that next chapter of  _ The Hobbit.  _

He checked, first, in the children’s play area, which was where she usually tended to be at such a time, but a quick scan revealed no dark hair and fixed concentration to be seen. Then Louis remembered, of course, that she’d actually been in her room the last time, and perhaps she was there again — perhaps she preferred to read in the comfort of a bed. 

Only, Louis couldn’t seem to remember which room she’d been in. He was sure it’d been around this part of the hospital — would have sworn she’d been in that string of rooms, there — but he couldn’t seem to find the right room. None of these patients were her, and in the back of his mind something cold trickled in. 

“Excuse me,” he said to a vaguely-familiar passing nurse, mind too icy to try and remember her name. “Um, could you tell me which room Nirmala Veer is in?”

The nurse blinked at him, and then frowned. “Nirmala Veer? Oh, um, I’m sorry, I don’t believe she’s in our care anymore.”

Louis’ skin felt glassy. “Sorry?” he croaked.

The nurse pursed her lips, trying to remember. “I think it was about three days ago? She’s been moved to Great Ormond Street.” 

Jesus Christ, how did Louis not —? But then that was the thing. He hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t thought…hadn’t  _ wanted to... _ he just had no idea.

“Could you,” he tried, but he faltered and had to clear his throat. In his mind’s eye all he could see was Nirmala, so thin and tired against the stagnant sheets of her hospital bed. “Could you tell me what she was in the hospital for?”

The nurse looked surprised, and then a little suspicious. Who was this doctor, she was clearly thinking, and what did he want if he’d not even known why the patient had been in the hospital. And she was right, clearly — how had Louis let himself ignore it, let himself pretend…

“Please,” he whispered, shakily, and there must have been something about the way he formed the word, something on his face that convinced her. She studied him for a moment, and then flicked her gaze away to focus on the details. 

“Kidney failure, wasn’t it?” she said, almost to herself. Louis couldn’t look away. “She was on the donor list, waiting for surgery, and had to stay with us so she could undergo regular dialysis, but. Well, she got worse. We were no longer equipped to deal with her illness.”

“Worse?” Louis repeated, and his tongue felt thick and incapable. He could see Nirmala’s fragile little wrists as she selected which chess piece to move next, her skin bearing the marks of a biro doodle, sloppy and young. He could see the dark stain of her hair against the pale blue of her hospital gown, and — further away, hazier than that — he could see another, a different little girl, hear that awful sound of a flatline.  _ “Worse how?”  _ he asked, fractured.

The nurse simply met his eyes again. “We were no longer equipped to deal with her illness,” she repeated. Of course she couldn’t give him anymore details than that — it was nothing to do with him, unprofessional to have offered up even this much information — but Louis couldn’t believe that was all he was going to get. 

_ “Worse how?”  _ he repeated, harsher, and he took a step closer. The nurse’s mouth tightened to a line, walls coming down in a snap. 

“That’s more than the information you’re entitled to receive, doctor,” she reminded him, tone sharp. Louis didn’t care — couldn’t think. 

“What happened?” he demanded, louder. “Worse  _ how?”  _

“I’m not at liberty to just give out patient information,” she snapped. “If there’s a reason you need to know, I suggest you ask her actual doctor.”

And that stung, somehow. The reminder that Nirmala hadn’t even been in his medical care, had had nothing to do with him. That it had taken him three days to notice she was gone. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” the nurse was saying, but Louis didn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence, barely noticed her walk away. Nirmala had gotten worse — suddenly? No, no of course not. Why else had she been lying, thin and frustrated in her dull hospital room the last time he’d seen her? There’s no way she wouldn’t have rather been in the playroom with the other children. And yet Louis hadn’t noticed, hadn’t wanted to think about it. Hadn’t wanted to revisit what it was like to watch someone die. 

Someone called something out further down the corridor, and Louis felt himself flinch, jolted back from awful, stilted memories. God, what time was it? If Nirmala wasn’t here then there was really no excuse for him to not get back to work, if only he could get his thoughts back on track. If only he could control the insane pace of his heart, the clammy feel of the air on his skin. 

_ Three days.  _ He hadn’t noticed for three whole days. Nirmala was halfway across the country, lying in some other hospital, no doubt hooked up to all sorts of machines, quite possibly (or quite probably?)  _ dying,  _ and Louis hadn’t even fucking  _ realised.  _ God — she’d always been alone here, with her mum constantly working and two other little siblings to look out for, there just not being enough time in the day for frequent visits…who’d accompanied her to London? Was there anyone really there to quiet her fears, hold her hand…?

But that was too specific an image, too much of a reminder. The feel of a child’s tiny hand growing lifeless in his own. Louis felt like he could choke. Not again, never again,  _ God.  _

He had work to do. He had a job — or almost, at least — and this was a hospital, and he needed to get back to work. His own stupid, muggy thoughts could be damned, if only he could find some semblance of  _ control.  _ He knew the corridors and the hospital layout well enough to find his way back to his own department with little awareness, little need for coherent thought beyond the silent, desperate hope that no one approach him or force him to speak. Christ, Louis wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak normally in a state like this, wasn’t sure how close he was to crumbling at any minute. 

Somehow, dizziness threatening at the edge of his consciousness, he managed to fill in the paperwork for the temporary release of the newborn baby with Tetralogy of Fallot, who had undergone her heart surgery and was now hooked up to oxygen tanks. He had to keep stopping, hands shaking and attention slipping, and try and wrestle his panic back under control. Had to reread every sentence, cradle his head in his hands and try and breathe, and check for mistakes. Images of Nirmala kept invading his mind, horrible possibilities and the repetitive, sadistic echo of his own question:  _ worse how? _ He didn’t want to acknowledge the other memories his mind kept dragging up. He just wanted to get himself under control and be able to do his  _ fucking,  _ sodding work. Just wanted this awful, awful shift and awful day to end. 

But of course Harry cornered him at the end of the shift which Louis had somehow, impossibly managed to get through. Of course he’d somehow managed to pick up that something was wrong, of course he couldn’t just leave it the  _ fuck  _ alone, let Louis suppress and move on like Louis did best. Let Louis go home and sit down, at a loss and fraying at the edges.

“Hey,” Harry asked instead, tentative and sitting down next to him. “You alright?”

Louis felt like he could shatter. He gave a jolting shrug of the shoulders. “I’m fine.”

The long pause that followed as Harry hesitated was possibly the loudest silence Louis had ever had to endure, and he might have even marvelled at it had his hysteria not been so close to breaking loose.

“Are you sure?” was all Harry came up with, after the moment was finally over, but he moved closer until his arm was pressed gently against Louis’, warm and real, and that was almost too much. Louis had to swallow around the rising levels of emotion, felt like he could choke on the salt of his panic. Somehow, he managed to grit out an answer.

“Yeah.”

Obviously, Harry didn’t believe him. His frown was evidence enough of that, and he opened up his mouth to speak again — but Louis didn’t have the stomach for this. His desperation for air and solitude had reached a boiling point. 

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Harry!” he snapped, but he was an idiot to have done so. The moment he did everything broke apart, and Louis — an adult, sitting within the professional confines of his place of employment — began to cry. 

Surprise was the first, immediate reaction that broke across Harry’s face, and it was something Louis took in blurrily through his own tears, an image that would haunt him with mortification for years to come. But — to Harry’s credit — his second reaction was to reach forward and pull Louis against his chest, uncertainty vanished in the face of a sobbing form. 

Louis had no idea what Harry’s face did then, because he was too busy crying great racking, shaking sobs into his shirt, clutching at the fabric and wishing more than ever before not to be in this situation. 

“Whoa, hey,” Harry was saying, arms tightening around Louis. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Louis didn’t answer — couldn’t answer. He didn’t think he could form the words to explain what had happened, how he’d reached such a state. He didn’t want to say everything out loud, have to revisit it all in such a concrete fashion. He simply cried. 

After a while, Louis wasn’t sure how long, Harry shifted a little. He’d been holding Louis firmly against him, offering little hums and shushes and stroking at his shoulders, but now he gave a small clearing of his throat, the force of Louis’ tears having somewhat subsided. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, in a low and soft voice. Louis sort of wildly didn’t, but then maybe he did. Harry was warm and comforting around him, and even though objectively this was one of the most embarrassing things to have ever happened, within the confines of the moment Louis didn’t have the mind-space for mortification. Plus, it seemed unlikely that Harry was just going to let this slide, and if Louis didn’t explain then he might just rope in Zayn, and either way eventually Louis was gonna have to come out with it. But…even so.

“Don’t really know where to start,” Louis admitted, and drew back from Harry’s arms to wipe roughly at his face. 

Harry gave an accommodating hum, leaving Louis the space to find his thoughts. Who knows what he thought Louis was about to come up with — something dramatic and awful, probably, something that would be so much more deserving of Louis’ reaction than his own stupid inability to get over something that had happened years ago. 

“Um,” he swallowed, hesitant. Where possibly to begin? 

Harry searched his face, and then opened his mouth to say something — possibly to make a suggestion, or offer an assurance — but, suddenly afraid of being interrupted, Louis spoke up.  

“Nirmala’s been moved,” he said, and Harry fell silent. “You remember Nirmala, right? Of course you do. She, um, she’s been moved to Great Ormond Street. Three —  _ shit.  _ Three days ago. And I only noticed today, isn’t that…? I mean, God. Isn’t that just fucking shit?”

Harry’s eyes were wide and attentive, and he made a sympathetic expression, but Louis could see he didn’t understand. Of course — how could he?

“Three whole fucking days and I...you know I never read that next fucking chapter of  _ The Hobbit?”  _ Tears welled up in his eyes again, burning like traitors. “You know I didn’t even know why she was in the hospital in the first place. Well,” his voice cracked. “It was kidney problems, so. Had to be on regular dialysis, needed a donor, you know. But I never  _ knew,  _ and — that’s just shit, isn’t it? Couldn’t bear to. Three whole days.”

He paused, and Harry swallowed. “Louis —” he tried, but then Louis was off again.

_ “Shit,”  _ he swore, wiping at his eyes. “I’m not making any fucking sense, am I? Sorry. She got moved ‘cause she got worse, didn’t she? That’s all the nurse would tell me.  _ Her condition got worse.  _ And that — fucking hell, that could mean anything. She had to be transported all the way to Great Ormond Street Hospital because they’re the only people qualified to deal with her condition and that’s…that’s  _ bad,  _ Harry. I didn’t notice for three whole days.”

“Louis, you’re not her doctor,” Harry said, concern clear on his face. “It wasn’t your job.”

“But I was her friend, wasn’t I?” Louis countered, sharp as anything. “Or, something, I dunno. That sounds weird, but. She was lonely here, and now she’s been moved halfway across the country and I didn’t even notice.  _ Shit _ , what if she — ” he broke off, unable to say it, throat working itself over and vision once again obscured by tears. There was a sob, before he could gain control again. “I’m still not making any sense, I know. I just…shit, Harry. I don’t know how to explain it right.”

Harry clearly didn’t know either, but his face was patient. Louis swallowed a shaky breath.

“It’s not just about Nirmala,” he admitted, eventually, wiping his eyes again. Then his confidence faltered, and his mouth scrunched up into an ugly sob.  _ “I don’t know if I can say it,”  _ he whispered, choked. 

At Harry’s concerned frown, though, he had to clarify, waving a half-mad hand in the air.

“It’s really not that bad, I’m just being — thought I’d learned to get past this,  _ fuck — _ it’s not that bad. It shouldn’t be that bad. That’s what they tell you, right? You just need to get over it.”

Fuck, if Louis was gonna say it then he needed to just…say it. Could he say it?  _ God, get a grip. _

“I had another patient,” he got out, tears falling like crazy. “Except that’s not quite true. It was — years ago, and she wasn’t really my patient. It was at another hospital. Before here. She was…I dunno. She was young, and cheeky, and she reminded me a lot of my sisters. Hell, by the end of it I almost felt like she could have been one. And then she died.”

Harry’s tiny exhalation of breath was the only acknowledgement he made, eyes still fixed on Louis’ face as he waited for Louis to continue. Louis took a long moment to try and control his breathing, rub his eyes with shaking hands and push down the rising tide of nausea. 

“She  _ died,  _ right in front of me, Harry,” he whispered. “I was…I was holding her hand when it happened.”

“Louis…” Harry tried, soft and pained, but Louis wasn’t done. 

“It was… _ God.  _ It was awful. I’ve never been so bad. Pathetic, really. What sort of doctor, am I right?”

Harry’s face darkened. “Louis—” he began again, but Louis held up a hand, sniffing.

“Don’t, Harry. Don’t even pretend. It wasn’t even my  _ fault,  _ okay? She wasn’t my patient, I was just following someone else’s instructions, and there was nothing we could do. Sometimes people just die.” 

It could have been a powerful sentence, if Louis’ voice hadn't cracked on the last word. 

“You have to get over it,” he continued, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “That’s what Dr. — that’s what the consultant told me. He told me to pull myself together, that the only thing I was doing by getting in a state like that was putting more patients at risk. Doctors need a clear mind and they  _ don’t  _ get worked up over stuff like this. And he said — ” Louis took a breath, wincing, still not looking up. “He said one day a patient’s gonna die, and it’s gonna be my fault. 100% on me. And they’ll be a little kid who could have had a life, and that’ll all be gone because of  _ my  _ fuck-up. And he said that when that happens, he’s gonna need me to get up and keep going, because shit happens. And by getting like this I’m only…I’m only worsening the problem.”

The words had tumbled out, faster and faster, but still Louis had kept his eyes trained on the floor, unable to look up. Until he felt Harry’s hand, hesitant and a little shaky, lift his chin. 

“Christ, Lou,” he whispered, eyes a little glassy, and pressed his hands in a cradle around Louis’ face. “That’s…I mean…”

“And he’s right,” Louis continued, voice small, searching Harry’s eyes. “I will eventually kill someone. I mean...isn't he?" his tone wavered, tragically desperate, as though Harry could magically guarantee that Louis would never be the cause of someone’s death.

"Yeah, probably," Harry conceded, voice throaty. "But…”

“I can’t get close enough to let it happen again,” Louis admitted, lip quivering like a child’s, and he’d never felt so vulnerable. “Do you understand, now? That’s why I can’t be like you. Nirmala’s only more proof of that.”

Harry’s eyes were big and concerned. “But that's not healthy, Louis. Maybe...yeah, maybe be aware that the patients are patients first and foremost, but...there's got to be some sort of middle ground, here."

"But if it works for me —" 

"It clearly doesn't work for you! Louis you can't just bury something like this."

Louis indulged in a long pause, studying Harry’s face, before he swallowed and averted his gaze. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, quiet. Harry let out a breath, before swiping a thumb over Louis’ cheekbone. 

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised, perhaps unwisely. At that moment Louis couldn’t bring himself to care whether Harry was spouting bullshit or not. “We can work on it, okay? You don’t have to jump to either ends of the spectrum when it comes to patient contact.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, throatily, and suddenly remembered himself. He drew back, Harry’s hands falling away, and cleared his throat, wiping at his eyes. “Well,” he tried, clearing his throat again. “It’s not the be-all, end-all, is it? Let’s just…let’s just pretend this little moment never happened. I’m…you know. It’s all been blown a little out of proportion.”

Harry gave him a knowing look, but let him have it. “Hometime, then?”

“Absolutely,” Louis confirmed, still sniffing a bit, but determined to move on. “It’s been a fucking long day.”

 

***

 

It sort of felt like the world should have come crashing down. Like every illusion Louis had fought so hard to keep going had shattered, and Harry was going to see him for what he really was and tell everyone, and Dr. Edwards was going to fire him once and for all and it wouldn’t matter anyway because being a doctor would be too frightening for him to handle without his walls up protecting him. That’s what it felt like.

Of course, that’s not quite how real life worked. It was the same, familiar hospital that greeted Louis the morning of his next shift, with the same staff blearily walking the halls, and the same familiar feeling of a patient’s chart in his hands. Everything wasn’t going to just crumble around Louis because he’d spoken some words aloud, and the world was going to keep spinning. 

Even the conversations were the same. Everyone in this wacky-ass hospital still seemed to possess that same surreal banality that made it feel like home.

_ “How was your night then, Nialler?” _

_ “I don’t mean to brag,” Niall began, braggingly. “But I ate dinner at what just happens to have been the official restaurant of the 2012 Olympics.” _

_ Louis was mildly impressed for all of 0.2 seconds before it clicked. “What, so — Mcdonald’s?” _

_ “Ah, Macky-Ds,” Niall crooned into the air. “My home away from home. My nearest and dearest.” _

Yes, somehow Louis’ universe hadn’t shattered overnight. Harry hadn’t told anyone, it seemed, and hadn’t even made immediate reference to it upon seeing Louis for the first time — had been too busy squinting at his phone, and then paying actual attention to Dr. Edwards. Louis had been stuck in a strangled chokehold between relief and some kind of messed up disappointment. But objectively it was undeniably better that Harry didn’t make some kind of big deal out of it, except for maybe an element of softness to the corners of his mouth upon making eye contact. Louis’ life hadn’t ended.  _ We’ll figure something out. _

 

***

 

“Ms. Shah’s back again,” Janet told Louis at his next WIC shift, clearly barely suppressing a roll of her eyes. “Something to do with the little girl. She’s waiting in there when you’re ready.”

Louis let out a obliging huff of air that wasn’t quite a snort. “Typical,” he commented, reaching forward to take the offered paperwork and placing down the prescription information left over from his previous drop-in. “See that that gets filed away right, would you? Cheers. Right, which room is she in?”

Janet waved a hand in the direction, and Louis arranged his face into one of professional sympathy before pushing the door open.

“Ms. Shah!” he greeted her, smiling. “Well, what can I do for you today? Hello, Sara.” 

Sara offered a small, shy greeting in response, but her mother’s troubled expression did not change. 

“You need to admit Sara to the hospital,” she said in lieu of salutation, brows pinched together and hand coming down protectively on Sara’s arm. “I’ve been reading up on her symptoms and — and — ” she paused, shooting Sara a glance, and swallowed. “You just need to admit her.”

Louis let out a breath. “Look, Ms. Shah, why don’t you take a seat? I’m sure there’s no need for drastic action just yet, and I need to at least give Sara a routine checkup. Remember what Nurse Thirlwall said about Web M.D.?”

Anita’s face soured. With one last squeeze of Sara’s arm she moved away from the bed and towards Louis, moving him until they were facing away. 

“I know what you lot think about me,” she hissed in an undertone. “Okay? And maybe you have a point. God knows I like to worry but — this is  _ different.  _ I don’t need you to patronise me, thank you Doctor, I can get that anywhere. The very least you can do is listen to what I have to say.”

Louis shifted, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I somehow—”

“Don’t give me that,” she snapped, and then seemed to consciously lower her voice. “Look, it’s lupus, okay? I know it is. I  _ know  _ it is. And I don’t want to frighten Sara, but…lupus is serious, Dr. Tomlinson. You don’t need me to effing tell you that!”

Anita had been convinced her children had had a lot of increasingly dramatic diseases over the years Louis had been a part of this hospital, and it amazed him every time the way she seemed so deathly certain, so afraid. Surely after the first two or three times there’d be an undercurrent of uncertainty, a sheepish hesitance — but the terror in her eyes was stark and real, bordering on hysteria. It was stupid, objectively, but it was also strangely humbling. 

“Hey, alright,” Louis held up his hands in a placating gesture, pushing the scepticism away as best as he could. “I’m sorry. Can you tell me her symptoms?”

She nodded, stepping back and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Baby, would you tell the doctor your symptoms?”

Sara nodded, shy, and the blue paper crinkled under her legs as she shifted uncomfortably. “Um,” she began, tugging her sleeves down over her small hands. “I keep getting out of breath.”

There was a pause as she looked like she expected Louis to react, but then her mother made an encouraging face and she swallowed, continuing. 

“Oh, well. Um. I do football at school but I keep getting breathless and I — I don’t get why. It’s stupid. I used to be able to run around just as much as Jamie and the others but now I can’t. I get too tired and I have to stop and breathe lots.” 

Louis frowned. “Well that’s —” he started, but Anita interrupted him.

“It’s more than that, though,” she explained, sharp. “It’s not just exercise. Sometimes at night she has to sit up to help her breathe. She’s never had asthma — it’s come up out of nowhere. That’s…I mean, lying immobile in  _ bed.  _ Struggling to breathe!”

Louis flicked his gaze back to Sara, who looked timid and awkward, her body posture closed and small. (Louis had never liked going to the doctor’s either, ironically enough.)

“And it’s not just the breathing, either,” Anita continued. “She’s tired, all the time. And you feel ill, don’t you, baby?”

“Ill?” Louis asked, frowning.

Sara rubbed at her nose with a little fist, shrugging her shoulders uncomfortably. “I just don’t feel very well,” she said, voice quiet. 

“Do you see now?” Anita demanded, placing a hand once more on Sara’s arm. “Do you see what I’m saying?”

Louis took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Well,” he said eventually. “I can tell you I very much doubt that it’s lupus, but this breathing thing doesn’t sound very good, does it? I’m gonna do a couple check-ups, if that’s okay.” 

“Of course, of course,” Anita nodded, looking relieved, as Louis reached into one of the drawers of his desk to take out a spirometer. 

“Now, Sara, this is a device to measure how much air you can breathe out. It’s gonna check your lungs, okay?”

“Okay,” Sara parroted obediently, even as she eyed the spirometer with distinct distrust. Her mother hovered anxiously beside her for the duration of Louis walking her through the test, looking as though she were seconds away from demanding what the results meant at any second. Louis did his best to ignore her, focusing on keeping Sara calm and instructing her on what to do. The moment he took the mouthpiece away, Anita seemed unable to hold it in any longer.

“Well?” she asked sharply, eyes pinched. “What did you find? What’s wrong with her?”

Louis shot her a look, swallowing as he stepped back to put away the machine. “Technically,” he said, keeping his eyes on where his hands were putting away the spirometer. “I am supposed to pass the information onto a specialist to confirm any results, but I’m pretty confident at reading these.” He looked up again. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Sara’s lungs.”

“But Doctor — ” Anita began immediately, cheeks flushing with indignation. Louis held up a finger.

“That does NOT mean I believe she is of perfect health,” he continued loudly, and she fell silent again, pursing her lips. “Honestly, I didn’t think it would be her lungs, by the sound of it. I just had to rule it out.”

Anita stared at him, her hand coming down to clasp blindly at Sara’s arm. “What is it?” she asked, paling. 

“Well, I don’t know yet,” Louis reminded her, keeping his tone light. “And I continue to doubt that it’s anything serious, Ms. Shah, there’s no need to become alarmed. I would simply like to schedule Sara in for an echocardiogram.” 

Ignoring his advice, Anita looked even more distraught. “An echo—?” she repeated, stuttering. Beside her, Sara was looking between her and Louis with quickly materialising fright in her eyes, confusion clear in the uncertain scrunch of her eyebrows as she drew her cues from her mother’s reaction. 

Louis cleared his throat. “Hey, Sara,” he began, trying to contain the situation, but Anita barrelled on.

“An echocardiogram’s the  _ heart,  _ isn’t it!” she demanded, shrill. Blotchy colour was beginning to rise up Sara’s face as she watched her mother panic. “Are you telling me there’s something wrong with my daughter’s heart — and I shouldn’t be  _ alarmed?” _

“Mummy?” Sara asked, tentative, but Anita shushed her with a vigorous rub of her arm.

“Is that what you’re telling me, Dr. Tomlinson?” she repeated, harsh. Louis fought the urge to snap at her. 

“Ms. Shah,” he tried again, forcing his voice to stay calm. “I can tell you right now the likelihood of there being something seriously wrong with Sara’s heart is very low — it is likely to be a small, easily-contained issue that, once treated, will hardly affect Sara at all. In the unlikely event that there is a bigger issue, we will do all we can to fix it. Okay?”

Anita swallowed, staring at him with that same fierce, irrationally protective emotion blazing in her eyes, but Louis simply took her silence as assent and bent down to address Sara instead. Anita’s hysteria was irritating, but poor Sara didn’t deserve to be made unnecessarily afraid.

“Now, Sara,” he said softly, looking her in the eyes. “There’s no need to be frightened, okay? I just need to run another test. We don’t know that anything’s really the matter, we just need to rule everything out. Do you understand?”

Sara nodded obediently, but her big dark eyes remained watery and scared, and Louis didn’t really feel that he’d got through to her at all. There was a horrible part of him that wondered whether he even wanted to, given his situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry chrysler, btw


	8. Chapter 8

“I just hope Anita doesn’t let this get to her head,” Dr. Edwards was sighing, not for the first time since he’d filled her and Harry in, several days later on the day Sara’s echocardiogram was scheduled. “She’s going to be reminding us of this for the rest of her life. I bet she’ll be convinced Kian’s suffering from heart attacks, next, bless him.”

“I just think it’s not fair on the kids,” Harry said, also not for the first time, an earnest little frown pushing his normally solemn face into a strangely juvenile pout. (Louis got the sense he must have looked quite cherubic at a younger age.)

“It certainly must be a right rollercoaster, having Anita as your mam,” Dr. Edwards agreed, wry. She flipped through Louis’ notes from the appointment, giving them a cursory once-over, and then set them aside. “Well, you’ll see whether it really is something with her heart or not now, I guess. I almost hope the results prove it’s all in that woman’s head so she won’t be encouraged.”

“I mean it’s bound to just be myocarditis, surely,” Harry pointed out, scratching at his nose. “And that’s trivial enough.”

“Scary-sounding name, though,” Louis said with a grin, rolling his eyes. “Maybe we should pretend it’s called something else so she doesn’t freak out.”

“If only you could,” Dr. Edwards agreed, and then turned to look up as a nurse stuck his head in through the door. 

“Sara Shah is prepped for her echo, when you guys are ready,” he said. “Ms. Shah was anxious to let you know that she believes Sara has developed a fever.”

When Louis and Harry entered the relevant room, Anita was quick to stand. Sara and Kian remained sitting, looking nervous, and Louis didn’t miss the way Kian was clutching his sister’s hand in his. 

“Did they tell you?” Anita demanded. “Did they tell you about her fever?”

“It was passed on,” Louis confirmed, trying to keep that ever-suffering tone out of his voice as Harry made his way over to inspect Sara. “But as a symptom it ties in with our current theory, Ms. Shah, so there’s no need to grow concerned. Sara’s in safe hands, and we remain confident that there’s nothing major to worry about.”

“Hello, Sara,” Harry was saying meanwhile, squatting down in front of her so they were face to face. “Do you remember me? You might not; we were introduced a little while ago.”

Sara sniffed, eyes solemn, and nodded shakily. 

“You do? Well, that’s very flattering. Confirms my theory that I’m too pretty to forget.”

Her nose scrunched as she let out a small surprised giggle, glancing at Kian as though to check that he’d heard it too. Harry looked pleased. 

“Might I check your temperature, then?” he asked, pulling out an ear thermometer, and Sara nodded again, facial expression shuttering quickly back into worry. 

Anita also watched anxiously, too preoccupied to even respond to Louis, as Harry took Sara’s temperature. 

“Yup,” Harry confirmed once the number beeped up on the thermometer. “You’ve got a bit of a fever. But that’s nothing to be concerned about — do you know why we get fevers, Sara?”

Sara’s brow wrinkled as she thought it over. “Uh,” she tried. “Because it means we’re poorly?”

“It does, but do you know why our bodies do it?”

Sara shook her head, and Harry turned to look at Kian. 

“Any idea?”

Kian frowned. “To, um, to kill germs?”

“Pretty much,” Harry confirmed, smiling appreciatively. “So we shouldn’t freak out if we get a temperature — it’s just our bodies trying to fix things. Me and Dr. Tomlinson are here to help it along, but we’d have a hard job if your body didn’t do any of the fighting. Okay?”

Sara let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Brilliant,” Harry stood up, and turned to face Anita. “Let’s get this show on the road. Would you prefer to be present during the test?”

“I would,” Anita confirmed. “But Kian, baby, why don’t you go and wait outside? We don’t want to crowd your sister.”

“I’m staying here,” Kian insisted, gripping Sara’s hand tighter. “Mummy, I want to stay.”

Anita pursed her lips, but turned to Louis. “Would that be okay?”

“Not a problem,” Louis assured her. “But it is really a very simple procedure. Nothing scary or serious about it.” 

Sara seemed to remain unconvinced of this throughout Anita helping her up onto the bed and taking off her shirt, her face looking pinched and pale as Louis applied the gel and electrodes. Kian stood stubbornly by her side as the machine whirred and swished with the sound of Sara’s blood flow, fidgeting occasionally but remaining remarkably still for an eight year old boy over the rough half an hour the scan took. 

“Now, we’ll need to do a little bit of closer analysis of her test results before we can confirm anything,” Harry told Anita once the echocardiogram had finished, “but it looks like our first theory is holding pretty firm.”

“Sara seems to be suffering from myocarditis,” Louis explained, at Anita’s inquiring glance. “It’s a kind of inflammation of the heart, and it’s generally pretty harmless. Just something that’s caused by viral infection — in most cases it goes away within a week or so once the infection’s been sorted. I’d happily bet that Sara’s is a reaction to that awful cold you brought her in for.” 

Anita looked unconvinced. “So...what? You think we should just leave it? But her...her symptoms…”

“No,” Harry agreed graciously. “Her symptoms are just a touch more serious than most. It’s still nothing majorly concerning, but myocarditis can be known to worsen suddenly, so,” he shot Louis a look, “as I think my colleague will agree, I’m gonna go ahead and suggest that we keep Sara in the hospital for a couple nights. Just until we’re sure her condition is improving as it should. Does that sound okay, Sara?"

Sara did not look like this sounded okay. “I have to stay here?” she clarified in a wobbly voice, hunching in on herself. 

“Just for a bit,” Harry told her, voice softening. “Is that really so bad? We’ve got lots of toys for you to play with, and all our nurses are very kind.”

Sara swallowed nervously and looked at Anita. “Will you stay too?” she asked, her voice small. Anita rubbed a comforting hand down her arm.

“I’ll definitely stay the night with you, bubbalub,” she told her, “and I’ll do my best to get off work. But I can’t make any promises, Sara, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll stay,” Kian spoke up suddenly, crossing his arms. “I’ll stay during the day, and we can play on my DS.”

Anita smiled, and touched Kian’s cheek. “That’s very sweet of you, young man, but you’ll be at school.”   


“But what if you can’t get off work?” Sara asked, eyebrows pinching together as her eyes became glassy with the threat of tears. “I don’t want to stay here on my own.”

“Hey, now,” Harry squatted down to look her in the eye again. “You won’t be on your own, alright? We’ve got lots of other patients to keep you company, and our lovely nurses can make sure you’re alright. I’ll make sure to check up on you as regularly as I can.”

“And it’s only for a couple days, baby,” Anita reminded her. “And it’s much better that you’re in here where the doctors can keep an eye on you than out in the world where anything can happen.”

Sara lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug, head bent down to stare at where her legs were kicking back and forth, and Anita offered Louis and Harry an apologetic grimace. 

“Well, when you’re ready one of the nurses outside will walk you through admittance,” Louis told her, deciding Sara probably wanted an opportunity to talk to her mother without the unfamiliar presence of him and Harry. 

“Thank you, doctors,” Anita nodded, and Louis and Harry left them to it. 

“Bless her, she’s terrified,” Harry commented once they were out of earshot. “I wish Ms. Shah would keep her hysteria to herself.”

“The woman’s only got herself to blame,” Louis agreed. “Hey, you wanna go grab some lunch?”

“Sounds good. Do you know what the canteen’s doing today?”

“What?” Louis angled his head to grin at him. “Forget to bring in one of your stupid salad boxes?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t always bring in a salad box.”   


“Not always,” Louis agreed. “Sometimes you drink a health shake instead.”

_ “What?”  _ Harry turned to look at him, offended. “When have I ever done that?”

“It’s the sort of thing you  _ would  _ do,” Louis maintained, mouth twitching, as they entered the lift and pressed the button. 

“It is  _ not,”  _ grumbled Harry. “You really think I’d willingly drink a health shake rather than actual lunch in the middle of a long hospital shift?"

“I think your eating habits are dumb,” Louis pointed out, grinning. “And your sense of taste is a mystery. So, yeah. I bet your favourite food is something gross but good for you. Like cod liver oil.”

“Oh yeah, you nailed it in one,” Harry drawled. “My ideal treat is a big old spoonful of cod liver oil.”   


“It’s something nasty,” Louis insisted. “Plain qwi-noah?”

Harry twitched. “I know you know how to pronounce it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Louis continued, prodding Harry’s arm as he smirked. “Your favourite food is plain qwi-noah. Or — or — fucking celery. Is your favourite food celery? ‘Cause you burn calories eating it?”

“You’re bang on,” Harry deadpanned. “If I was sentenced to death my final meal request would be plain quinoa with a garnish of just watery celery.”

“And a dressing of cod liver oil?” Louis sniggered. The lift doors pinged open and they approached the canteen. “Aw, what a shame, Harold. Spaghetti bolognese? Not up to your standards. Why don’t you go and eat some plain lettuce from the salad bar?”

“Piss off,” Harry shook his head good-naturedly, reaching for a tray. 

“No but, seriously. What  _ is  _ your favourite food? You haven’t said yet which leads me to believe it’s truly something hilarious. Is it quorn?”

“No, you were right,” Harry insisted, piling spaghetti onto his plate. “My dream meal is celery and cod liver oil. That’s who I am as a person.”

“Like,” Louis snorted. “Like I know that to be true, in your heart? Like in your soul that is the answer? But for real: what’s the food you’re deluding yourself into thinking is your favourite.”

“Just a nice pile of celery,” Harry shrugged. “A tall glass of water. And some plain quinoa. No salt. If I ingest salt I shrivel and die. Only plain goodness. Health.”  

Louis sniggered to himself, shaking his head. “I’ll get it out of you eventually. I know it’s something hilarious.”

They sat down, and Harry turned to look at Louis in contemplation. 

“What?” Louis asked, after a second, fork halfway to his mouth. 

“I dunno, I just. How are you feeling? About Sara?”

Louis made a face, dropping his fork. “Really? You wanna talk about this already? I thought I’d have at least a week or two before we acknowledged the weeping.”

Harry’s mouth seemed to twitch despite himself, even as he made a gesture of uncertainty. “Well I don’t know! I just wanted to check. Cause you know what I think: you’ve got to look into changing your mindset, haven’t you? And that takes time, Lou.” 

Louis found himself momentarily distracted by the sound of Harry shortening his name like that. Had he ever done it before? Was it a bad sign that Louis liked to hear it so much? He cleared his throat. 

“Harry, she’s literally been in for one proper appointment. I don’t think we have to worry about me getting overly attached at this stage.”

“I know that,” Harry rolled his eyes. “But it’s a process, isn’t it? And if you’re going to practise finding a middle ground then you need to be aware of it from the beginning. And maybe it’s good to practise on a patient like Sara, who isn’t likely to drop dead in the next couple of days. Gives you a margin for error.”

Louis chewed his lip, uncomfortable with the line of discussion. “I don’t even,” he tried, and then swallowed. “I don’t even know how one would practise going about that. It’s not really a conscious thing, bonding with a patient, is it?”

“Maybe that’s your problem. You need to maintain control. I mean, you were certainly able to consciously not bond with them, weren’t you?”

“That’s different,” Louis protested, although he wasn’t all that sure it was. “This feels stupid,” he tried instead. Harry gave an infuriatingly nonplussed shrug.

“I’m just saying,” he said around a mouthful of limp garlic bread.  “If you want to make this work, you’ve got to do  _ something.”  _

Louis swallowed around the ill-feeling that had lodged in his throat, and felt it sink down to form a pit in his stomach. 

 

***

 

“Hey, Niall, have you seen Harry?” 

Niall paused in his mopping, leaning artfully upon the mop. “Not since this morning I haven’t. You need him urgently?”

“Not really,” Louis admitted, “I was just wondering where he’d gone. You sure he hasn’t come down this way?”

Niall tilted his head. “Well, I only got here about five minutes ago, was cleaning the other wing before that, so he might have.” Then, he narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?"

Louis frowned slightly at the tonal change, and let out a huff of laughter. “Uh?” He made a face.  “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but we kind of work together —”

“Uh huh,” Niall nodded, only scepticism was written into every pore. Louis could only blink at him.

“I mean. We do?”

“You know, Tommo,” Niall shifted, crossing his arms, “I’ve been debating whether to say anything for a little while, now. At first I thought maybe I was reading into things, then I figured you’d say it soon enough, but. Time’s a ticking away. Are you and Harry an item?"

Louis choked, a little. “Are we bloody  _ what?” _ He somehow managed to get the words out around the gasp of inhaling his own saliva. 

“Dating. Going out. Sweethearts. Courting each other. Does he pick you up at 7 to grab milkshakes at a diner after a film at the drive-in? Are there distant wedding bells tinkling?” Niall ticked each option on a finger, expression unmoved even as his eyes twinkled with amusement. 

Louis’ mind was a blank expanse. “I…” he gaped, mouth useless. “N...no. No. We’re not. We’re — I mean... _ what?”  _ He swallowed, regaining some cognitive ability and cringing at the mess. “Niall,” he continued, firmly. “I am not dating Harry Styles. Did you miss the part where we can’t stand each other?”

Niall raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Did you miss the part where you guys got over that? My theory is you had a steamy night of resolving sexual tension and were left with only the gooey feelings. Mate...the two of you aren’t subtle.”

Louis’ heart rate had picked up exponentially. The bottom of his stomach had dropped away. “Niall, I don’t know what you fucking mean,” he insisted, tense. “You’re just reading into things.”

What did that mean?  _ You aren’t subtle.  _ Panic was flaring up, hot and quick. Him and Harry were just — just physical. Something trivial to pass the time, keep the interactions smooth and help put aside the bickering. Niall was delusional. Seeing things that weren’t — weren’t there. This thing between him and Harry didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t mean anything.  _ Are there distant wedding bells tinkling?  _ It meant _ nothing.  _

“C’mon, Lou,” Niall rolled his eyes, “is it so drastic to admit it?”

“I don’t have time to listen to you talk shit,” Louis snapped, breathless. “I’ve gotta go check up on Sara, anyway, so —”

“Sara Shah?” Niall interrupted, expression instantly dropping away into concern. “Sara Shah’s been admitted?”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis confirmed, slightly thrown by the sudden switch. “She’s um, she’s fine though. It’s myocarditis — like a, sort of, swelling of the heart due to infection. We only admitted her because it hasn’t been going down like it should and we wanted to keep an eye on her.”

“It’s not serious, though?” Niall clarified, eyes searching Louis’ face. “She’s alright?”   


“Yeah, she’s fine,” Louis ran a hand through his hair. This conversation was a wild fucking ride. “You can come with me to see her, if you want?”

“Yeah, that’d be brill,” Niall nodded quickly, setting his mop back into the bucket and grabbing a wet floor sign. Louis sped on down the corridor, leaving Niall to scurry after him in the hope that he’d be too distracted to revisit their previous topic of conversation. The sense of panic in the pit of his stomach had yet to fully fade.

Luckily, Niall seemed completely distracted. “Which room is she in?” he asked, catching up. 

“Just down here,” Louis pointed, and had to increase his pace as Niall hurried forward. Louis found himself stopping short just as he had opened the door to Sara’s room, however. 

A complete contrast to how she’d been when he’d last seen her, Sara’s body language was open and comfortable as she sat cross-legged on the bed, face bright and split by a massive grin, gazing up at where Harry was talking animatedly beside her bed. The sweet tableau was broken as both looked round to see who had opened the door, but Louis was still blinking in surprise at seeing her so at ease. 

“Niall!” Sara chirped, looking pleased. 

“There she is,” Niall grinned, shoulders dropping as he relaxed at the sight of her. “Hey, kiddo. I hadn’t realised you were staying with us for a bit! I would have come in sooner, tried to sneak you out for a cart ride!”

“None of that, I’m afraid,” Harry warned with a grin, as Sara giggled. “But by all means, visit away.”

He stood up and gestured to his seat, which Niall gratefully took. Harry turned his attention to Louis, smiling as Niall started asking Sara questions about what had happened. Louis gestured with his head, and they stepped out of the room, lightly shutting the door behind them.  _ (Louis decided to ignore whatever it was that Niall had been going on about earlier.) _

“How the hell did you get her so out of her shell?” he demanded. “She’s just been sullen and quiet!”

Harry shrugged. “Just made her laugh a bit, asked her about school. Random shit. It’s nothing to how she lights up at the sight of Niall.”

“Well, Niall likes to mop already clean floors just so she and Kian can slide across them in their socks,” Louis rolled his eyes, feeling himself relax as his mind shoved Niall’s comments far away. “Of course she lights up at the sight of him.” 

“I swear every member of staff in this hospital is in love with her and her brother,” Harry chuckled. “Are they really here that often?”

“Anita is in and out of these bloody doors as much as the common cold,” Louis told him wryly. “Or that’s how it seems, at least. Sara and Kian are definitely sweet enough to remember.”

“I’ll say,” Harry shook his head fondly. “Kian was the one who has a crush on Zayn, yeah?”

Louis snorted. “Bless him. I don’t think the little lad’s realised it, but one day he’s gonna look back on the way he acts around Zayn with pure mortification. Anyway — have there been any developments?”

Harry twisted his mouth, glancing back at the door. “The inflammation still isn’t going down the way I want it to. Her heart’s still weak.”

Louis hummed, frowning. “Do you reckon we should prescribe some anti-inflammatories?”

“Could do,” Harry conceded, and then ran a hand through his hair. “It was just an awful cold that caused this — she shouldn’t be so affected.”

“What about some ARBs?” Louis suggested instead. “If we relax her blood vessels and take some of the stress off her heart it might help reduce the swelling, give her body a chance to recover.”

“Yeah, let’s try that,” Harry agreed, setting his shoulders. “Assuming Dr. Edwards is okay with it, obviously.”

“I’ll go check with her,” Louis said. “I reckon we should do something sooner rather than later.”

“I agree; I’ll come with you.” Harry quickly opened the door to Sara’s room again and poked his head in. “Niall, we’re off. Sara, I’ll check up on you later, kay?”

Louis couldn’t hear what the two occupants of the room said in reply, but after a couple moments Niall followed Harry out of the room. 

“I can’t believe you’ve had that little girl sitting in this hospital for a couple whole days and hadn’t told me,” Niall complained as they walked away through the hallway. “What kind of medical professionals do you think you are?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Sorry we didn’t think to send out a hospital-wide memo,” he drawled. 

Niall ended up accompanying them to the staff room, the floor he’d left half-mopped apparently forgotten in a manner characteristic of his career as a janitor. He sat on the table where the coffee machine was and swung his legs as Louis and Harry talked to Dr. Edwards. 

“That sounds like a good strategy to me,” Dr. Edwards confirmed once they’d filled her in, and she stood and popped the last bite of a malted milk biscuit into her mouth. “In fact, let me sort it out. I need you two to deal with this paperwork for me, if that’s alright.”

Louis resisted the urge to groan. “Yeah, sure,” he sighed. Dr. Edwards patted him on the arm.

“Thanks, babe,” she smirked, winking at Harry. “You lot let me know when you’re done, alright?”

“Will do,” Harry intoned, rolling his eyes with begrudging fondness as Dr. Edwards neatly stepped past them and exited the staff room. 

“Sure sucks to be you two right now, huh,” Niall observed cheerfully from where he still sat upon the table. “Either of you got anything to eat?”

“Yes, actually,” Harry’s face brightened. “You want some frozen grapes?”

“Some  _ what?”  _ Louis snorted as Harry made a beeline for the fridge. “Harry, you realise Niall’s not gonna want your gross health snacks.”

“They’re not gross,” Harry protested vaguely as he patted around the fridge for his container. 

“And what are you implying about my state of health?” Niall demanded. “I may be a man who loves his KFC, but I work out. I eat salads. I appreciate a healthy snack.”

“Bullshit,” Louis scoffed, as Harry chucked Niall a ziploc bag of frozen grapes. “I doubt you’ve eaten a healthy snack in your life. Every other time I look at you you’re scoffing down a bag of magic stars from the vending machine.”

Niall looked offended even as he popped a grape in his mouth. “That’s a dirty lie, Louis Tomlinson.”

“It’s no such thing,” Louis retorted, glancing at Harry for backup but left hanging as Harry set about making himself a cup of tea instead. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Niall, but I know exactly what your dietary habits consist of. Health does not come into it.”

Niall narrowed his eyes, and Louis held up his hands.

“What?” he asked, making a show of his innocence. “All I’m saying is you’re one of the only people I can rely on to eat crap food 24/7! It’s a good thing!”   


Niall’s face remained unimpressed. He placed another grape in his mouth, chewed slowly, and then swallowed. “I’ll thank you not to rope me in with your nasty eating habits, thanks, Tommo,” he said coldly, although his eyes were laughing. 

“Niall!” Louis insisted, placing his hands on his chest. “Come on! Don’t leave me hanging, here! You’re my junk food buddy!” 

“I just don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall shrugged. “I can’t help but love myself and love healthy food. Have you tried cashew butter?”

Louis stared at him. “Don’t shit on our friendship like this,” he pleaded, softly. Niall slowly ate another grape.

“Say, Harry,” he said, still looking straight at Louis. “You ever tried kale crisps? Swear they’re just like the real thing.”

Louis let out a wounded noise, and turned unthinkingly to Harry for some kind of moral support. Harry only looked contemplative, and held out his mug.

“Nettle tea?” he offered, and even though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes that let Louis know he was taking the piss, it was officially the last straw.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he cried, grabbing half the paperwork off the table. “Is everybody in this hospital some kind of flipping vegan?!”

Harry’s bray of laughter followed him out the door even as he slammed it. 

 

***

 

When Louis went to check on Sara the next day, Kian was sitting on the floor outside of her room. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his face was blotchy with tears. Louis faltered and frowned a little way down the corridor, glancing around as though some explanation might materialise. Kian had yet to notice him, and his shoulders shook slightly as he reached a fist up to wipe at his eyes, stubbornly glaring at the ugly off-grey coloured floor. Louis slowly approached.

“Hey,” he said gently, attracting Kian’s attention once he was stood in front of him. The little boy’s dark eyes were shimmering with more tears when he jerked his head up in surprise, and he quickly wiped at them again. 

“I’m fine,” he sniffed, looking embarrassed and angry as he avoided Louis’ eyes and shifted slightly on the floor. “Mum’s inside, if you’re looking for her.”

Louis frowned, and he squatted down so he was at eye level. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he inquired, making sure his tone was light. There was a long pause during which Kian continued to not look at him, and then he gave a tiny not-quite shrug. Louis studied him, silently wondering what the best strategy might be.

“Did you know I have a little sister, too?” he settled on, after a moment. “I actually have five.”

That got Kian’s attention. “You have five sisters?” he repeated croakily, turning to look at Louis. Louis grinned.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Five whole little sisters. Sounds like hell, dunnit?”

The corners of Kian’s mouth tilted up, and he ducked his head to hide it, sniffing. “Do you,” he paused, jiggling one of his legs up and down and still looking down at the floor. “Do you worry about them?” he managed to get out, after a moment. Louis could feel his heart breaking.

“Yeah,” Louis admitted, softly. “Sometimes. I used to a lot more.”

Kian looked up again, the question clear in his eyes, and Louis took the opportunity to properly sit down on the floor, a part of him wondering if he was about to get too attached. Where did you draw the line between comforting a child and becoming conflicted in professionally treating a patient? In this moment, it didn’t feel like it mattered. Louis stretched his legs out, before answering Kian.  

“Our mum was a single mum for most of my childhood,” he explained, honestly. “We’ve got a great stepdad, now, but for a long while it was just me and the girls. Mum had to work long hours, and I was the oldest, and I couldn’t help but feel responsibility towards them."

Kian was still staring at him, eyes wide and far too serious for an eight year old. 

“I was their big brother, you know?” Louis continued, keeping his tone level and his gaze neutral. “I couldn’t help but feel like it was my job to worry about them, to keep them safe. To be the second parent — even though my mum would never have asked me to do that.”

He paused, and for a moment he and Kian simply looked at each other. Then — 

“I have a feeling you know what I mean,” Louis said. As though a spell had been broken, Kian looked away again, but he swallowed and tucked his knees closer to himself.

“She doesn’t understand,” he whispered. “Mum doesn’t — she doesn’t  _ get  _ it. I’m not trying to be naughty or get in the way, I just...I just don’t know what to do. But I know I’m supposed to do  _ something.”  _ His face scrunched up on the last word, voice breaking, and he drew a big shuddering breath and wiped insistently at his eyes again. 

“Did Mum yell at you?” Louis asked, gently, and Kian nodded frantically, still not looking at him. Louis made a sympathetic noise. “Hey, I’m sure she’s not mad, really. She’s just a bit stressed at the moment.”   


“W-when I’m — when I’m stressed,” Kian blubbered, “I don’t shout at  _ her.  _ She doesn’t have to be so m- _ mean.  _ I just w-want to  _ help.” _

“I know it doesn’t feel like anything,” Louis told him, “but I think the best way you can help Mum and Sara at the moment is to just be here for them. But most importantly, Kian, you should know you don’t  _ have  _ to do something. This is out of your hands, and you should never feel like this is in any way your fault.”

Kian looked at him again, tears streaming down his face. “But she’s my  _ sister,”  _ he wept, “and I didn’t even b-believe Mum that there was anything wrong with her. Maybe if I had she would have brought Sara in s-sooner.”

“Kian, listen to me,” Louis said, firmly. “Your sister is going to be  _ fine.  _ I know it all seems scary right now, but she really isn’t that ill. Okay? I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I know that Sara is going to recover soon, and then the two of you can return home and she can go back to being your annoying little sister. Do you understand? She’s going to be  _ fine.” _

Kian, if anything, cried harder. Then, suddenly, he had thrown himself forward and buried his face in Louis’ chest, tears dripping onto his scrubs and little hands gripping at his shoulders. Louis, momentarily thrown, was quick to wrap his arms around him, gently shushing him as Kian’s sobs gradually subsided. 

“You’re alright,” Louis murmured, stroking at his hair. “You’re going to be alright.”

After a few moments, Kian drew sheepishly back, sniffing. “Thank you,” he said in a small voice, quickly looking away. “Do you reckon I can go back inside now? Mum sent me out.”

“I doubt she’ll kick you out with me there,” Louis promised, getting up. He offered Kian his hand. “Shall we go in?”

Kian hesitated, and then took the offered hand to help him off the floor, although he dropped it again once he was standing, wiping at his nose and trying to stand tall. Louis knocked on the door, and then poked his head in. 

“Hello,” he called out, smiling at Anita and Sara. “Just checking in. Think I found something of yours sitting out here.”

He opened the door wider, and Kian trailed uncertainly into the room. 

“Oh, Kian, baby,” Anita tutted at the tear tracks on his cheeks, reaching out to him. “You know I didn’t mean to be sharp with you. Are you alright?”

Kian sniffed and nodded, but allowed himself to be stroked and kissed. Louis, meanwhile, felt his gaze zero in on Sara, and more importantly on the bloody tissue she was currently holding to her nose.

“Hey,” he frowned, stepping up to the bed to get a closer look. “You get a nosebleed, Sara? Everything okay?”

Sara nodded from behind the tissue. “I get them a lot,” she explained, voice slightly nasal from where she was pinching her nose. 

“The doctor said it was common for kids her age,” Anita said absent-mindedly, still hugging Kian, but then seemed to suddenly jump back into herself. “Why?” she demanded, standing back up. “Do you think it means something? Is it a bad sign? A symptom?”

Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I think it probably is just a nosebleed,” he assured her, quickly checking Sara’s vitals anyway. “They are indeed common in young children.” 

“So you’re not concerned?” Anita checked, still looking unconvinced. 

“Nosebleeds don’t raise any flags to do with myocarditis,” Louis told her. “I think it’s safe to assume this is unrelated. Is there anything else you’d like to report?” He turned back to Sara. “You feel any different?” 

She blinked up at him, and then looked at her mum. “Um,” she hesitated. “Maybe?”

Louis chuckled, pushing himself to act warmly towards her. “You don’t have to tell me what I want to hear, you know. The drugs might take a while to kick in, anyway, so don’t worry if you don’t.”

Sara looked relieved. “I still feel bad,” she admitted, and then pushed out her bottom lip into a pout. “But I wanna go home.”

“It hopefully won’t be too much longer,” Louis assured her. He noticed the slightly battered toy rabbit she was clutching, and pointed. “Who’s this feller?” he asked. (It seemed like the sort of thing Dr. Edwards might have done.)

She perked up, and rearranged the rabbit so it was sitting to attention. “This is Amira. She’s poorly too, but she’s getting better. Look!” She held up the rabbit’s paw, on which someone had tied a patient wristband. Louis would guess, judging by the familiar hand that had written the words  _ ‘AMIRA THE BUNNY’  _ on the slip, that that person had been Jade. 

“Cute,” he noted, grinning despite himself. “Well, I’ll leave you and Amira to make the most of your visitors, shall I? As ever, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. I’m sure one of the nurses will be in with lunch in a tic.”

Louis gave Kian one last encouraging smile before departing the room. He couldn’t help but feel for the kid — hoped he learnt to give himself a break sooner rather than later. 

“Hey, Lou,” a voice called his name as he was walking back through the hallways. “You got a moment to talk?”

It was Zayn, unlit cigarette in hand signifying that he was on his way out to the fire escape for a smoke. 

“Assuming I can bum a ciggie, ‘course I’m in,” Louis grinned back.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Quite the fucking assumption,” he bitched, but reached into his pocket for the cigarette pack anyway. 

“What’s up?” Louis asked, taking the cigarette when Zayn handed it to him and pushing open the fire exit doors so they could sit on the metal steps. Zayn didn’t answer for a long moment, too busy lighting up and then inhaling deeply, eventually breathing out a slow cloud of smoke with no little relief. 

“I dunno,” he said, once he’d got around to speaking. “I’m just tired, aren’t I?”

“Think that’s everyone’s story, mate,” Louis said, reaching forward to steal the lighter and light his own cigarette. “Any particular reason?”

“Not like...yawn tired,” Zayn clarified, slowly. “I mean, like, tired of this shit. With — with Liam, you know?”

“Ah,” Louis nodded, and took a drag of his cigarette. “Liam.”

“I know I’m beginning to sound like a bit of a broken record,” Zayn continued, eyebrows drawing together into a broody stare as he watched people mill about down on the ground level. “And, like, all we ever seem to talk about is me complaining about my fucking...emotions or some shit. Sorry. But... I dunno.”

“Yeah,” said Louis, unnecessarily. He flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette. 

“Guess I’m just confused, mostly,” Zayn admitted, mouth twisting a bit at the edges. “I’ve already gone on about why. And I don’t expect much, I swear to God...I know you weren’t implying anything. I just hate this fucking — in between status. Everything’s shitty and on edge. I don’t know what he wants, and I don’t know how to act around him.” 

He paused to take another drag of his cigarette, and his wrist was shaking, slightly. As though sensing that Louis had noticed, he snorted, wry.

“This is so fucking dramatic, isn’t it?” he noted, shaking his head. “I’m like some thirteen year old girl. Should plaster my wall in boyband posters to curb the pain, eh?”

“That’s one strategy,” Louis huffed, although his amusement was limited in the face of Zayn’s sadness. 

Zayn turned his head slightly to look knowingly at him, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a slight smirk. 

“You worried about me, man?” he asked. Louis raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching.

“‘Course not,” he claimed, shifting a little so he appeared only interested in those down on the street. “Just stealing the cig, aren’t I?”

“Uh huh,” Zayn shook his head, smirking. He flicked the ash off his cigarette. “Well, you don’t have to worry, anyway. I’ve decided to be realistic about it. I mean — Liam clearly doesn’t like me. Or, at least, he clearly doesn’t like me enough to do anything about it. And since I don’t think I can keep fucking...just...going on like this. Fucking myself up with stupid hope. And shit like that.” He shrugged, a movement that fell drastically short of nonchalance. “Just figure I should move on, maybe try seeing other people."

Louis grimaced, and took a long drag of his cigarette so he wouldn’t have to answer for several moments. Zayn’s words were logical, and probably for the best for him, emotionally, but...Louis had been so convinced that he and Liam would actually get together. He couldn’t help but feel that Liam was so close to realising that he  _ did  _ like Zayn enough to start something...close to sorting all his shit out and just allowing the two of them to be happy… But then maybe Louis was just reading into it, projecting what he would like to happen onto a less rose-coloured reality. Maybe it was time for Zayn to move on. Louis was just reluctant to concede it. 

“Maybe you should download Grindr,” he said, instead of anything he was really thinking. It worked, as Zayn let out a rough laugh, and stubbed out the end of his cigarette. 

“Maybe I will,” he replied, shaking his head with grudging amusement. “Thanks, Lou.” 

Louis patted him on the shoulder and put out his own cigarette, the two of them standing up to go back inside and return to work. At some point, he and Zayn parted ways, but Louis barely noticed. As soon as he could, he pulled out his phone and shot Liam a text asking what time his shift ended tonight. 

When Liam’s reply revealed they’d get off around the same time, Louis suggested they head home together as they lived in roughly the same area. Liam agreed, and lo and behold at the end of his shift, Louis headed out into the dark street to see Liam waiting for him, head ducked as he scrolled through his phone.

“Leemo,” he greeted him, shoving his rucksack over his shoulder. “Sorry about making you wait, but there’s always that one last thing to do, you know what I mean?”

“Don’t worry about it mate,” Liam said easily, putting his phone away, although he followed the statement with a wincing yawn which warped his next words. “So how you been? Feel like it’s been ages since we last had a chance to catch up.” 

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, silently gesturing for them to start walking towards the bus stop. “It’s all been good. Dr. Edwards continues her passion for last-minute dumping me and Harry in with a shitload of paperwork, but that’s what you get for wanting to be a doctor, I guess.”

Liam chuckled. “Fucking tell me about it. Being a paramedic isn’t nearly as much 24/7 excitement as I thought it was gonna be...a lot more filling in forms.”

“If I’m honest, mate,” Louis continued, deciding to just barrel into it, “I actually have something I wanna talk to you about.”

Liam turned to look at him in surprise, and then chuckled nervously. “You getting serious on me, Tommo?”

“Kinda,” Louis admitted. “If it’s too awkward we can go grab a pint or something, pretend the whole thing never happened. But I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Well,” Liam swallowed, huffing out another uneasy laugh. “Get on with it then, or do you want to build the tension some more?”

Louis took a moment to consider putting it delicately, and then discarded the idea. “You decided whether you like Zayn yet?”

Liam made a small, uncomfortable noise. “Man.” He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “I was really hoping you weren’t gonna ask that.”

Louis stopped walking, watching with some level of amusement as Liam stumbled to stop just as abruptly, although he forced himself to be serious. 

“Mate,” he sighed, “You gotta stop dragging this out. Either let Zayn down or don’t, alright? Just stop fucking keeping him waiting.”

Liam’s face wound up in frustration.  “I dunno if I  _ can _ , alright? I’m still not — certain...but I don’t want to say I’m not interested ‘cause it’s...well, it’s not  _ not  _ true, but it’s not true either, so —”

“Liam,” —Louis resisted the urge to press a hand to his face— “if you came into work tomorrow morning and Leigh-Anne asked you if you’d seen Zayn’s hot new boyfriend, how would you feel?”

Liam looked disgruntled. “Louis, do you really think—” 

“How would you  _ feel,  _ Payno?” Louis repeated, sharply. Liam’s jaw tightened.

“It’s not that fucking simple!” he insisted. “I don’t  _ know,  _ okay?”

“Let’s make the picture more vivid, then,” Louis folded his arms. “Zayn brings a hot new boyfriend to our next pub night. He greets you politely when you arrive but otherwise doesn’t appear to give a shit, too engaged with this hot new lad. They flirt all night and can’t keep their hands off each other.”

“For fuck’s sake, Lou,” Liam groaned. “Do we have to do this?”

“AND the guy’s hotter than you,” Louis continued, ignoring him. He searched around for more to add. “And he keeps touching Zayn. And Zayn’s loving it. They even kiss, right in front of all of us, with like, tongue, and —”

“I FEEL JEALOUS,” Liam snapped. “And pissed! Like I want to punch the guy! But mostly you!  _ Okay?” _

Louis cracked a smirk, secretly relieved he didn’t have to continue describing what had been fast turning into a weird porn scene featuring his best friend yet narrated by him. “Okay,” he replied pleasantly. “So what does that tell us?”

“That you’re a knobsack?” Liam sniped. Louis rolled his eyes.

“It  _ tells us,  _ Liam, that you like Zayn. Doesn’t it? You feel attracted to him, you get jealous when you think about him seeing other people...what’s not to get?”

“But it’s,” —Liam looked pained— “it’s  _ Zayn.” _

Louis made a gesture. “So?”

“He’s...he’s...I mean. I try and imagine, like, dating him, or whatever and like…” Liam swallowed. “Like...he’s — he’s — he’s a  _ guy,  _ okay? I’ve never —! A guy!”

Louis felt his exasperation softening, looking at Liam as he stood there on that dark street, small despite the irritating size of his biceps, suddenly juvenile in his ripped jeans and large hoodie. His posture and facial expression were underlined with nerves, punctuated with discomfort.

“Mate,” Louis said gently, “this shit is bound to be scary, yeah? But you can’t let that hold you back. If this is a part of who you are, then you’ve got to accept it. And Zayn’s not gonna expect you to take it full in the arse immediately. I mean,” he continued, ignoring Liam’s flinch, “he might  _ want  _ you to, and I’m sure the two of you will work up to it, but Zayn’ll understand if you want to take baby steps, man.”

Liam swallowed. His eyebrows were pulled together in an impressively potent, scared facial expression, although he schooled his features into a more neutral appearance as Louis waited for a reply. 

“I just don’t know, Louis,” he replied eventually, twitching back and forth on his heels. “I just think I need more time.”

Louis grimaced. “Thing is, Liam, you can’t expect Zayn to wait it. He’s driving himself mad expecting you to do something any second, and he doesn’t want to do it anymore.”

Liam looked pained. “I know it’s selfish, but I just wish he’d hold out a bit longer,” he confessed. Louis raised an eyebrow.

“Could you promise him that you’ll decide to try something if he did?”

Liam shook his head, and then groaned. “I know I should be able to! I just! I just don’t  _ know _ , Louis, I don’t fucking understand what I feel. I just don’t think I’m very good at facing my feelings.”

Louis felt a low swoop of something in his own stomach. “Yeah,” he agreed slowly. “I think I get you on that one.”

“I just can’t…” Liam searched for the words, and then gave up. “I just  _ can’t,  _ okay? Maybe I’m being a prat, but can we just — can we just drop it?”   


Louis debated keeping at it, but he didn’t think he was going to make any progress. This was a conclusion Liam would have to come to on his own.

“Yeah, alright,” he sighed, and began walking again. “You got any recent paramedic anecdotes to entertain me with?”

 

***

 

“Ms. Shah! I’m pleased to see there’s no need to ring you up,” Harry smiled charmingly as he and Louis entered Sara’s room to see Anita. She looked immediately alarmed.

“Well I was actually just — just leaving. Why?” she asked, sharply. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing like that,” Louis assured her. “We just wanted to inform you we’re scheduling Sara for another echocardiogram to see how the swelling’s coming along.”

“We need to check whether the drugs have had an effect,” Harry explained, and then shot Sara a reassuring grin. “Hopefully it won’t be long before you can go home again.”

“You think she’ll be able to?” Anita asked, standing. 

“We can’t promise anything, of course,” Louis was quick to remind her. “The purpose of the test is to see where we’re at. Once we know, we can decide what the next best thing for Sara is.”

“I want to go home,” Sara bleated from the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. “That’s what the eggo-gram should show.”

Louis had to suppress a smile at ‘eggo-gram’. Sara was disarmingly sweet. “Hopefully it will,” he told her. 

“When will the test be?” Anita asked, placing a hand on Sara’s shoulder. 

“We should schedule it in for the day after tomorrow, administration-willing,” Harry answered, “but we’ll keep you posted.”

“Alright.” Anita pursed her lips, and then glanced at her watch. She leant over and pressed a kiss to Sara’s forehead. “Well, I really should go, baby. Thank you, doctors.”

“Have a nice day, Ms. Shah,” Harry responded politely, as Louis approached Sara to check her vitals. 

“Now, how have you been feeling lately, young lady?”

“Tired.” She rubbed a small fist at her eye. 

“That’s not unusual for people spending time in a hospital,” Louis assured her. “Have you felt any further shortness of breath?”

“Nope,” she answered obediently. “Neither has Amira.”

“Well, that’s lovely to hear.” He pretended to check Amira’s pulse, and then nodded to himself as though satisfied by what he felt. “Have you or Amira experienced any other odd symptoms you might want to tell us about?”

“Uh-uh,” Sara shook her head. “But we want to go home.”

Louis gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know, pet, and we’re working on it. Shouldn’t be too much longer. Now, I’m going to listen to your heartbeat for a bit now, is that alright?"

Sara shrugged, and Louis took out his stethoscope to conduct the examination. As he did so, the door opened and a nurse arrived with Sara’s lunch on a tray, although Harry took it from her and set it on the table so Louis could continue undistracted. He instructed himself to pay attention to the sound of Sara’s heart, although his lips quirked up at the reminder of Harry’s presence — one that was, honestly, wholly unnecessary in a simple checkup easily done by one person. These days, he and Harry just seemed to provide excuses that found themselves in each other’s company more and more. 

“That’s all sounding tip-top. Thank you, Sara.” Louis took the earpieces out and sat back. 

“You feel like lunch, Sara?” Harry asked, picking up the tray again and bringing it over to her. “What have we got here? Yum, sausages and broccoli.”

Sara straightened out her legs and took the tray onto her lap, jabbing a fork into a sausage and taking several large bites. Harry chuckled. 

“Hey, slow down there. Don’t forget to eat your broccoli.”

Sara swallowed her large mouthful, and then pouted. "But I don't want to eat my broccoli, Dr. Styles," she complained.

"No?" Harry looked amused. "Not a fan of broccoli? What would you rather have with your sausages, then?"

Sara looked contemplative for a few seconds, and then her eyes lit up. "Potato smiley-faces!"

Harry let out a bark of laughter. "Potato smiley-faces?" he repeated, grinning.

Sara nodded, earnest. "They're my favourite thing to eat, and they always do them at school!" 

(Louis wondered wryly what Jamie Oliver would have to say about that.)

"Aw," Harry shook his head, still smiling. "Well as your doctor, Sara, I'm gonna have to tell you that potato smiley-faces aren't very good for you, so if you want any you're going to have to wait until you leave."

Sara pouted again, nodding glumly.

"But," Harry continued, lowering his voice. "Just between us, I can tell you that potato smiley-faces are my favourite food, too..."

She beamed at that, delighted, and nodded excitedly. "Aren't they yummy!!"

"Very," agreed Harry. "Now, eat what you can, okay? We don't want you starving."

Sara nodded, picking up her fork again as Harry turned and walked back towards Louis. 

"Potato smiley-faces, Harold? Really?" Louis teased, quiet so as not to distract Sara.  _ "That's  _ your favourite food?"

Harry shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm a versatile man.” He turned back to Sara, clearing his throat. “I might be round to check up on you a little bit later in the day, okay Sara? But we’d best get back to it now.”

Sara nodded, too busy wrinkling her nose at the broccoli speared on her fork to give more of a reaction. 

“You’re not serious though?” Louis asked once they were out in the corridor, narrowing his eyes with amused scepticism. “You don’t  _ actually  _ like potato smiley-faces.”

“Who the hell  _ doesn’t  _ like potato smiley-faces?” Harry retorted, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Louis, just because I like to eat healthy doesn’t mean I’m incapable of enjoying potatoes.”

“I don’t believe it,” Louis decided, folding his arms. “You eating potato smiley-faces just doesn’t compute.”

“You  _ know,” — _ Harry turned to face Louis, walking backwards— “rumour has it that sometimes I actually eat  _ chocolate.” _

“No!” Louis cried, pressing his hands to his face. “It can’t be true!”

“One time,” Harry continued, cheeks dimpling furiously as he laughed around the words even whilst trying to be serious, “my sister made homemade custard, and I ate the whole batch straight out of the pan.”

“The _ horror!”  _ Louis groaned, and then grabbed Harry by the shoulders to press his face to his chest in mock distress. Harry stumbled a bit, and then broke into proper laughter, stopping walking and ducking his head so his cheek was pressed against Louis’. 

“I’ve been known to eat —” he paused to wheeze laughter. “—to eat entire family packets of those M&S crisps that are like a whole day’s worth of recommended calories.”

Louis tried to let out another overdone noise of disgust, but he was giggling too hard, and after a moment he felt Harry press a kiss to his cheek and then stand straight again. Louis’ stomach swooped and he stepped back, throwing an afterthought of a glance around the hall to make sure there weren’t any visitors or patients walking past to have seen them acting so unprofessionally. Luckily the only other person in this particular stretch was a nurse a little way off, weighed down by the pile of clipboards in her arms. He couldn’t get the lingering smile on his face to go down. 

 

***

 

The end of that week brought about another official pub night. It also marked the day that Sara was released from hospital, as the echocardiogram confirmed that her swelling had finally gone down as it should. Kian hugged his sister the moment they were told, quickly changing his mind and then messing up her hair so that she squealed and Anita fondly tutted. He had looked up, then, and met Louis eyes with a huge, gap-toothed and grateful grin. Louis would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t felt a warm fuzzy feeling at the sight of it. 

Sara had made sure to thank Harry fervently and promise to come back and see him soon, and Harry had pretended to shake Amira’s hand and then teased Sara with a grin that she’d better get home as quickly as possible before they changed their minds. The whole scene had been distinctly saccharine, in Louis’ opinion, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel — reflecting on the experience — that he might have unwittingly managed to professionally bond with a patient for the first time in a long, long time. To successfully, genuinely maintain a middle ground. 

The realisation was nothing short of world-shaking, and filled Louis with a tentative sort of euphoria. For a while there he’d almost been tempted to doubt how suited he was for this line of work — but it seemed there was hope after all. It was, quite honestly, a fucking brilliant feeling. It made Louis want to go out and celebrate, and more importantly to get absolutely smashed. 

Luckily, the others didn’t seem to be too far off his wave length. The girls arrived at the pub in a group, dressed to go out and giggling, all shimmering cheekbones and heels giving the illusion of long limbs. 

“We wanna hit a bar after this,” Jesy announced loudly, as Leigh-Anne began to enthusiastically try and get the bartender’s attention. 

“Maybe a club or two,” Dr. Edwards added, sitting herself down at the table and taking a gulp of Zayn’s pint without asking.

“Oi,” he protested. 

“I haven’t been proper out in  _ ages,”  _ Jade chimed in, ignoring Zayn. “We should’ve agreed to pre somewhere, to be honest. Let’s get fucked!” 

_ “Yes,  _ Jade!” Louis grinned as Harry cheered beside him. “Absolutely!”

Leigh-Anne returned with a tray full of shots, and Jade was quick to reach across Niall for one, giggling, while Jesy whooped and applauded. (Louis suspected that, despite Jade’s implication, this wasn’t the girls’ first alcohol of the night.) He met Zayn’s eyes with an amused grin, reaching for his own shot, and Zayn snorted and shrugged before doing the same. He faltered, however, before he could quite raise the shot to his mouth, eyes zeroing in on something behind Louis. Louis turned to follow his line of sight, and — yep. There was Liam, letting the pub door shut behind him and half-raising a hand in greeting. There was a nervous kind of energy to the set of his shoulders, and Louis looked curiously back at Zayn, who did not move his gaze from Liam’s person. When Louis glanced once more at Liam, he met his eyes with a bashful smile. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” Harry whispered in Louis’ ear. Louis made a bemused expression at him, failing to suppress a grin.

“I didn’t think I did,” he muttered back, “but maybe Liam listened to me more than I thought he did.”

Harry looked at him curiously, but then Liam was making his way over to the table and Zayn was awkwardly looking down at his lap, although he seemingly then remembered himself and quickly downed his shot. 

“So you ever finish that film you told me about, Zayn?” Harry asked casually, saving Zayn from having nothing to do but avoid looking at Liam. Zayn’s relief was palpable.

“Um, no I didn’t, actually,” he answered, words slightly breathy, “but I really should. Um, did I tell you about the part —”

“Hey,” Liam said, reaching them. His eyes were focused only on Zayn. 

Zayn seemed completely at a loss, so Louis cleared his throat.

“Alright, Leemo,” he replied, when it seemed as though Zayn wasn’t going to. “You’re looking particularly sharp tonight.”

Liam continued to gaze at Zayn. “Guess I just felt like making an effort,” he said. Zayn’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“You, uh, look good,” he agreed. Louis couldn’t help but meet Harry’s gaze, eyes searching him out through the thick, palpable tension between Liam and Zayn. Harry’s mouth twitched with barely-suppressed amusement, and Louis had to look away again quickly so he wouldn’t laugh.

“Thanks,” Liam answered, lips curving up at the corners. He glanced down at his shoes, looking pleased for a moment, and then seemed to remind himself of the goal at hand. He looked back up at Zayn, who looked completely breathless. “I’m, um,” Liam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m gonna get a drink,” he said, and then didn’t move. 

Louis and Harry met eyes again, and Louis had to absently rub a hand over his mouth to suppress his snort.

“What you planning on getting?” Harry asked when neither Zayn nor Liam said anything further. Liam blinked slightly, looking at Harry with slight surprise.

“Oh, right,” he answered after a moment. “Just a pint, I guess. I’ll...um,” he looked back to Zayn. “I’ll be right back.”

“Right,” Zayn replied, and then watched disbelievingly as Liam awkwardly turned and walked up to the bar. “Am I dreaming right now?” he asked faintly.

Louis reached over and pinched him, and got a hard thwack on the arm in return.

“Ow! Tosser,” Zayn grumbled, cradling his shoulder where Louis had pinched him. His gaze found its way back to where Liam was waiting to be served at the bar. 

Louis looked back at Harry, smirking, and Harry pressed a grin into the palm of his hand as he rested his chin. 

“LADS!” Niall cried, suddenly appearing behind them and clapping a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’ll never guess what happened yesterday.”

“Go on then,” Harry turned to look at him, grin expectant.

“I was watching  _ Countdown,  _ right,” Niall explained. “And someone spelt out  _ butthole.  _ Let me tell you — it was quite the fucking moment.”

Harry broke into laughter as Louis drew a hand down his face, groaning. “What the hell, Niall.” 

“Niall, you up for hitting the town after this?” Jesy yelled from across the table. Niall looked up and grinned. 

“I’m there!” he cried. “Here, Harry, you might wanna undo a button or two, heh?” 

A little while later, several drinks down each, they flowed out of the pub and onto the street, cackling and cajoling each other. For some reason or other Dr. Edwards and Jesy were opera singing, while Jade and Niall fell over themselves with laughter at the sight. 

Louis was soon squashed into the back of a taxi in between Harry and Jesy, Leigh-Anne making faces at her snapchat in the front seat and occasionally whooping, presumably to the chagrin of the driver. Harry laughed beside him, his shoulder knocking into Louis’ as he did, and Louis’ stomach swooped pleasantly as he compared this taxi ride to the awkward one he and Harry had shared to that conference all those days ago. Before, strange silence and reams of space had choked the journey, but this time his right side was warm and tingling from the experience of pressing up against Harry, and Louis let his head fall down, smiling despite himself, to rest on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Leigh-Anne!” Jesy yelled next to him, wheezing with laughter. “That filter makes you look like my fat uncle!”

“Say that again, you cow!” Leigh-Anne shrieked and cackled from the front seat, trying to turn and meet Jesy’s eyes between the door and the head rest. Louis rolled his eyes and huffed laughter onto Harry’s jacket.

“Harsh words,” Harry observed, amused. Leigh-Anne and Jesy took no notice of him. After a moment, Louis felt a warm hand on his knee. His skin tingled and his heart jolted. He suspected Harry could probably feel the way Louis’ face broke into a wide smile against his jacket.

Louis wasn’t really sure of the name of the first bar they went to. It had blue lights, loud music, and a crowd of people hollering at the bartenders. Dr. Edwards somehow managed to squeeze through and get served — the power of beautiful women — and waved Jade and Leigh-Anne over to help her carry various drinks back to the booth the rest of them had been quick to snag.

“I WISH THEY WERE PLAYING SHITTIER MUSIC,” Jesy yelled at Niall across the table, who grinned back.

“LIKE WHAT?” 

“I DUNNO!  _ BUST YOUR WINDOWS _ ?”

“IN WHAT  _ WORLD  _ IS THAT A SHITTY SONG?” Liam demanded. 

“YEAH, WHAT,” Zayn chimed in, pressed close to Liam’s side. His hair was curling out of its previously perfect do, and his eyes were glazed and drunk and happy. 

“YOU’RE DEAD FUCKING RIGHT,” Jesy agreed, shaking her head. “WHO AM I KIDDING? THAT SONG’S UNIRONIC QUALITY.”

“WHAT ABOUT A BIT OF ABBA,” Harry suggested, accepting the drink Jade passed him. 

“WHAT  _ ABOUT  _ ABBA?” Dr. Edwards asked, having just reached the table. Louis reached over and snagged a glass. 

“IT’S GOOD SHITTY MUSIC,” Niall explained. “LOVE ME SOME FUCKING ABBA.”

“YO SHUT UP,” Leigh-Anne squealed, as the song blaring through the speakers changed to  _ Starboy  _ by The Weeknd. “I LOVE THIS SONG.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Harry spoke into Louis’ ear, as Jade and Leigh-Anne began to enthusiastically sing along to  _ Starboy.  _ “I kind of hate bars like this. Like, they shouldn’t be as loud as a club, you know? Defeats the point.”

Louis was glad he still had enough self-control that he could suppress the urge to shiver at the feeling of Harry’s mouth so close to his ear. He couldn’t quite stop himself from flicking his gaze down to Harry’s lips, though, when he turned his head to reply. Their faces were just awfully close, is all. 

Harry’s eyes dared him to do something, in front of everyone. They must have looked intense, Louis bet, staring silently at each other, hands close on the table. Harry quirked an eyebrow, slightly. Louis’ bravery failed him, and he turned away.

“HEY, YOU GUYS WANNA GO SOMEWHERE QUIETER, MAYBE?” he called at the others, heart thumping like a coward. 

“WHAT?” Niall called back, angling his head so his ear was facing Louis’ direction. 

“I SAID: YOU MAYBE WANNA GO SOMEWHERE QUIETER?

“YOU WHAT?” Niall repeated, scrunching his face.

“I SAID — oh, fuck you.” Louis’s expression soured as he realised. Niall cackled loudly. 

“I’D BE UP FOR SOMEWHERE QUIETER,” Liam offered, sneaking a look at Zayn out the corner of his eyes. Louis grinned at the pair of them. 

“FUCK OFF, WE JUST GOT HERE,” Dr. Edwards complained. “AND IT DOES THE CHEAPEST DOUBLES IN MANCHESTER, I SWEAR.”

“WE CAN JUST DOWN THEM AND GO,” Jade waved a hand. “THEY’RE RIGHT, PEZ. IT IS BLOODY LOUD ENOUGH TO BE A CLUB, BUT YOU CAN’T EVEN REALLY DANCE.”

The second bar was a lot better, in Louis’ opinion. He was, to be fair, drunker at this point, so perhaps the warm fuzzy quality was down to that, but Louis wouldn’t write off the contributing factor of Harry dimpling and shimmying with Jesy beside their table, even though no one else was dancing. 

“What the hell do you mean, he was in  _ Degrassi?”  _ Liam was gaping across the table from Louis. “Isn’t that some American teen show?”

Zayn was laughing softly, tongue appearing between his teeth. “I can’t believe you like Drake and you didn’t know this. It’s um — like, Canadian, I think.”

“Like he was  _ acting  _ in it?” Liam clarified, looking dumbfounded. The drunken flush to his cheeks suggested the alcohol was not helping his attempts to grasp the concept of Drake’s early acting career.

“Yeah he got, like,” Zayn snorted, shaking his head. “He got like, shot, or something. It’s funny as hell.” 

“Yeah?” Liam grinned. He shook his head, and then leant forward. “You wanna go out for a smoke then, show me on your phone?”

Zayn had sort of looked dazed all night. His face split into a wide grin. “Yeah, go on.”

“Honestly, they’re  _ pathetic,”  _ Jade appeared behind Louis to hiss in his ear as Liam and Zayn got up, fond. “Like preteens, I swear.”

“They’re cute,” Louis laughed, turning to grin knowingly at her. “How much do you wanna bet we don’t see them for the rest of the night.”

“God, I fucking  _ hope  _ so,” Jade rolled her eyes. “Otherwise I’m getting toothache, or something. Now come on, up.” She tugged at his shirt with one hand. “Niall’s gonna break the world record for downing a pint.”

“Like hell he is,” Louis scoffed, but scrambled up to come see. 

Uproarious chanting and four empty pint glasses later, Niall had to be dragged out of the bar lest he continue trying until death. He was admirably steady-footed as they walked on down the street, but had started bellowing some Irish ballad and dreadfully slurring the words. 

“LET’S GO TO A MOTHERFUCKING CLUB!” Dr. Edwards yelled from somewhere behind Louis. 

“WOO!” Leigh-Anne screeched in agreement. “I WANNA  _ DANCE!” _

“You ready to dance?” Harry asked Louis, appearing beside him and winking stupidly. 

Louis snorted. “I was  _ born  _ ready,” he claimed, shoving unnecessarily at Harry’s shoulder for no reason other than to touch him. “I got  _ moves,  _ Styles.”   


“Oh, you are  _ so  _ gonna regret claiming that when we get on the dance floor,” Harry promised, looking elated. He turned so he was walking backwards, threw up his arms in the air and gave a filthy hip wiggle. “I  _ own the stage,  _ Louis Tomlinson,” he declared. “I am the MASTER of the dance. The LORD of the shoulder shrug. The, fucking, SENSEI of the thrust.”

“Jesus  _ Christ,”  _ Louis dragged a hand down his face, laughing and groaning. “You’re already awful.” 

_ “BOOGIE WONDERLA-AND,”  _ Harry sang, before breaking into laughter and falling into step next to Louis again. “You’re gonna have to bring your fucking  _ A-game  _ if you want to even  _ think  _ about beating me.”

“OI, LADS,” Jesy yelled from behind them. “YOU’VE WALKED PAST THE FUCKING CLUB, YOU MORONS.”

The lot of them loitered in the queue for a while, breaking into song lyrics every now and then. Liam and Zayn were significantly nowhere to be seen, and Leigh-Anne and Jade had great fun imagining increasingly ludicrous places they might be having sex right this minute. Louis laughed along with them, so hard his sides hurt, and then hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder just because he could, soaking up the warmth through Harry’s shirt. He paid barely any attention to the enthusiastic conversation Harry was having with the two girls ahead of them in the queue. Something about boots? Oh — now they were talking about Hugh Grant movies. When did that happen?

“— STANDING IN FRONT OF A MAN!” one of the girls shouted over-enthusiastically, grabbing Louis’ attention. “Asking him to  _ love her.” _

Her friend exploded into giggles and slapped her on the back. Harry was offering rumbling compliments and suggestions of a career in acting. Louis wasn’t really following.

“What?” he asked, blearily. The lull of standing in a queue and the torturously tempting warmth of Harry’s back and shoulder against his front had had a rather soporific effect on him. 

“Aw, your boyfriend’s adorable, mate,” one of the girls told Harry, laughing. “A sleepy drunk, is he?”

Louis frowned and pressed his face into Harry’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge her assumption. Sober Louis would certainly have something to say to that, but drunk Louis sort of wanted to live in the moment. No time for uncomfortable truths and anxiety about consequences when your vision spins pleasantly every time you shake your head, and your blood feels hot and slow from the booze. No, much better to burrow into Harry’s warmth and luxuriate at the feel of his hard stomach underneath your hands as your arms sneak around his waist. 

Someone prodded him, hard, in the back, and he reluctantly pulled back to glare at Dr. Edwards.

“What?”

“Night’s not over yet, Lou,” she scolded. “Do us a favour and try and stay awake.”

“Louis’ getting o-old,” Niall sang, still slurring, from behind her. “Louis’ getting o-old.”

“Oi, piss off, Nialler,” Louis crossed his arms, attempting to stand up straight and stop swaying. “I am just as capable of partying until 5am as I was a few years ago.”

“I think you need more alcohol, babe,” Leigh-Anne decided. “I’ll buy you a jägerbomb when we’re in.”

“I’m fine!” Louis protested, offended. “I’m not old!”

“Why are you not promising  _ me  _ jägerbombs?” Jade demanded. “You owe me a drink and all!”

“Fine, fine, jägerbombs on me,” Leigh-Anne waved a hand.

“OI OIIII!” Niall suddenly crowed, pointing a triumphant (if slightly wobbly) finger down the street, where Liam and Zayn were walking towards them. They were holding hands. 

The whole group exploded into whoops and cheers, attracting Harry’s attention back from the girls he’d been talking to. Louis was suddenly wide awake again, cupping his hands around his mouth to bellow lewd congratulations down the road. 

“Like you have a fucking leg to stand on, Lou!” Zayn shouted back, giving him the finger. “Like you haven’t been falling over Harry all bloody night!”

The girls cackled and turned round to shove at him, and Niall leaned over the rope to offer Zayn an uncoordinated high five as he and Liam reached the group. 

“At least we don’t hold hands like girl scouts,” Harry shot back, and the group  _ oohed  _ and whooped again. Liam and Zayn didn’t get a chance to retaliate, as they’d reached the front of the queue. Before Louis quite knew it they were in the club. 

Music pulsed around him as Jade grabbed his hand and tugged him through the corridor filled with people, girls glitzy and glamorous in shiny eye makeup and shoulderless tops. Harry’s hands settled on Louis’ shoulders so they wouldn’t be separated, and Louis vaguely assumed the others were following close behind. He was too busy enjoying the feeling of Harry’s hands on him like that in public to give it much thought. He was definitely awake, now, and he felt his mouth pull into a stupid grin as the happy dance music flowed around them, as Jade tugged him into the main area and he had to stop suddenly to avoid crashing into a group of people abruptly pushing past him. Of course, this only made Harry careen into him, and Louis let his grin stretch and leant back into Harry’s chest, tipping his head back to try and meet his eyes. Harry laughed — Louis felt it rather than heard it — and ran his hands down Louis’ arms before gently pushing him forward after Jade, who had turned to see where they’d gone, and was rolling her eyes.

At some point or other Leigh-Anne handed Louis a jägerbomb, and then a bit later Dr. Edwards bullied him into buying everyone cups of some generic blue alcohol that seemed to be the club’s speciality and was definitely lethal in high doses.

“WE’RE MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS!” Dr. Edwards excitedly told the uninterested bartender as Louis shoved his change in his pockets and picked up the drinks. Leigh-Anne whooped and laughed behind her. 

As promised, Harry was attempting to own the dance floor.  _ Attempting,  _ might be the key word here — his long limbs flailed and gyrated with gusto, but he happened to be dancing next to Jesy, so. It wasn’t really a fair competition. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that couldn’t stop you from looking. Maybe Louis was sort of biased.

“THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA BRING YOUR A-GAME!” Harry shouted at him, grinning as he reached forward and tugged Louis towards him. Louis laughed.

“YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE A-GAME, STYLES!” he shouted back. Harry just grinned and moved Louis’ arms in time with his own terrible dancing. 

They were laughing, jokey movements, with wild hand gestures and exaggerated hip-thrusts. Louis was practically in fits of giggles as he tried to shout the song lyrics across at Harry, not caring about the faintly amused or irritated looks people trying to dance near them were shooting over. He didn’t care about any other person in this club...even his friends, at this moment, had faded into obscurity against the big fucking smile on Harry’s face, the way he threw his head back to laugh when Louis did something he found particularly funny. Normally Louis tried to dance well in a club, but in this moment he didn’t give a shit whether he looked attractive. With Harry looking at him like that, it didn’t matter. Every time their hands grazed Louis would link them up, and they would wave each other’s arms up and down and give out great shouts of laughter. Louis felt breathless with amusement, dizzy with the music and the smoke machine and Harry, always Harry. 

Because Harry got a little closer, then, and the dancing became a little less exaggerated, and suddenly Louis didn’t feel quite like laughing anymore. His stomach swooped and danced, and his hands felt like they couldn’t get enough of the feel of Harry next to him, solid and fucking perfect, and he wanted to kiss him. God, he wanted to kiss him so badly. His whole body ached for it, but even as drunk as he was he couldn’t bring himself to do it on the dance floor, in front of everyone. God — everyone seemed to know, now, they’d all been joking about it, and tomorrow he was going to freak.

Right now, right here, though, with his mouth brushing Harry’s neck almost without his own permission, Louis didn’t want to think about how badly he was going to panic tomorrow. He just wanted to stay here, forever, or — or even better. To go somewhere where he and Harry could be alone. Truly alone — not hurried kisses in corners of the hospital, but actually, genuinely just the two of them. Just him and Harry and all the intoxicating consequences that would bring. God, Louis wanted that more than anything. 

“HEY,” Niall was suddenly next to them,  _ criminally  _ near them — didn’t he know it was just Harry and Louis in the whole wide world right now? “The girls are heading to another club!”

_ Piss off, Niall. _ Why weren’t Harry and Louis alone right now? Why wasn’t more of Harry’s skin available to Louis’ wandering hands? 

“Do you wanna go to the next club?” Harry asked Louis, breathy words against his ear.

“I want to go home with you,” Louis confessed instead, and Harry took in a sharp breath. He drew back to look at Louis, face suddenly slack and open.

“Okay,” he agreed, starry-eyed, and then suddenly he was kissing him. Against his better judgement Louis surged forward and kissed him back with everything he had, right in front of everyone — right in front of Niall, probably, poor guy, but maybe he’d taken the hint. Louis didn’t care. Louis didn’t care about anything but Harry’s hands and Harry’s mouth and getting them finally,  _ finally _ alone. 

  
  


***

 

Louis couldn’t explain why he woke so early the next morning. His eyes flickered open into the weak, early grey light as it filtered through the gap in the curtains. Despite the short amount of sleep, he existed in that moment in a fragmented illusion of being completely, utterly wide awake. This was not his own bed. His sheets were blue, at the moment, but these were white. His mattress was softer than this, too. This was Harry’s bed.

Louis remembered. They’d fallen asleep spooning close, wrapped up warm and glowing, but he supposed one of them must have moved away in the few hours since because they weren’t pressed together anymore. He rolled over, gently, painfully, and his heart caught in his throat at the sight of Harry’s sleeping face across from him on the mattress. It was puffy and crinkled, lax in the fractured morning light. 

They had had sex. This was not the most important detail playing on Louis’ mind at this moment, because they had had  _ sex,  _ and it had — meant something. Hands tracing down spines and smiles pressed into necks, Harry’s body arching against the mattress and Louis sinking down, down. Hot, but not careless. Drunken, but terribly meaningful. This hadn’t been some inebriated fuck — not at all. They had been drunk, but it hadn’t  _ felt _ like it. Seemed like no one had told Louis or Harry when they were doing it that it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

And that was the most frightening thing of all. This wasn’t  _ supposed to be _ — Louis had been meant to — they weren’t supposed to  _ feel.  _

He felt, cold and terrible as anything, the panic set in. His fingers felt detached and clumsy as he reached across for his phone, mindlessly pressing the home button to wake it up and check the date, guilt and horror flaring senselessly up as he recognised that this was not his own phone that he was holding, but Harry’s. He dropped it back down again as though scalded, but it had been enough of a glimpse to confirm and legitimise the dark churning in the pit of his stomach. Enough to show him the date, and show him that it was two weeks before the end of the final month: before Dr. Edwards was required to make the decision and give one of them, only one, the job. Louis had to get out.

Jesus Christ, he was an idiot. He’d honestly thought...or he hadn’t, that was the problem. He hadn’t thought about the consequences of his actions, not really. Because if he had — in what  _ world  _ was getting off with the person you were competing with for a job a good idea? More than that: in what world had Louis ever been good at not mixing up sex and feelings? He was a complete, fucking idiot.

But how the  _ fuck  _ did he let it get this bad? How had he thought this would ever work out well? He hadn’t. He  _ hadn’t thought.  _ He hadn’t thought for one moment about how much this was going to hurt. Hadn’t thought about the fact that at the end of the month Dr. Edwards was going to give one of them the job and fire the other, and Louis wouldn’t be able to take either option. To stay and know he’d deprived Harry of his dream job; to leave and know Harry was enjoying what should have been  _ his  _ life. 

Harry’s face was slack and gentle across from him. The idea of him waking up, blinking blearily in the light and smiling at Louis was —  _ terrifying.  _ Louis’ head hurt from a hangover, and normally his cognitive processes the morning after a night out were maddeningly slow and tired, but here his heart wouldn’t stop beating like a jackhammer. Real, genuine fear was prickling on the back of his neck, burrowing into the pit of his stomach. He’d made a terrible, terrible mistake, and he had no idea how he would be able to fix it. He had to get out, had to pull back, had to do  _ something,  _ God  _ fucking  _ dammit!

Harry let out a huff of breath in his sleep and shifted slightly. Louis tried not to let that knowledge, that he looked so sweet in the mornings, linger on in his mind as he silently, shakingly climbed out of the bed, pulled on his clothes, and stole out of the flat. His heart hammered the entire way. He had to get out. He had to get out. He had to get out.


	9. Chapter 9

Six missed calls. Six missed calls, and then Harry had apparently given up trying. Louis sat in his flat, anxiously eating frosties by the handful out of the box, and hoped he’d take the hint. Every time he so much as thought about seeing Harry again, he damn near broke out into hives. He couldn’t sit still, having to constantly live with the knowledge of how badly he’d fucked up and how there was no easy way to resolve it, but he didn’t want to do anything else, either. He would periodically stand up and anxiously move to try and do something, reach out a hand as though to open the fridge only to immediately retract it and curl into himself, bending his knees to slump onto the floor and put his head in his hands and groan in horrible, anxious frustration. Then he’d be up again, telling himself to get a grip, walking into the small laundry room and staring at his pile of dirty clothes. His heart would be racing, his mind telling himself to do something useful, goddammit, but he couldn’t. To do anything right now felt like he was distracting himself from an incoming danger; every instinct he had was crying out at him to be on guard, to pay attention, to not let himself be any more vulnerable than he was. Nothing to do but pace the flat and rub his hands over his stomach in frustration as though he could will the gutting, awful nerves out of him.

What had he done —  _ fuck.  _ What had he  _ done?  _ He’d screwed everything over. Couldn’t he have made nice with Harry without ending up like this? Was Louis fucking incapable of being amicable with attractive people without eventually plastering himself on them, or something? Of course not — all his friends were unrealistically attractive. So why was  _ Harry _ different? 

It was the worst day-off of his life. No relaxation, no  _ Antiques Roadshow  _ marathons, no lengthy chat with his mum. Louis didn’t want to talk to anyone — every time his phone buzzed from some inane group chat message his heart jolted and panicked, and his hands wanted to shake with an overflow of adrenaline and nerves and just a general, terrible feeling of constantly being on edge. The idea of talking to  _ anyone  _ was the most terrifying thing in the world. It was the worst day-off of his life but he also never wanted it to end, so he’d never have to face anyone ever again. He just wanted to burrow under a blanket on his sofa and feel shitty and horrible forever. But of course he couldn’t. 

 

***

 

Louis rode the bus to work that next day like a man to the gallows. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, didn’t know how to react to this situation he’d landed himself in, but knew he somehow had to fix it. Was it even possible to fix it? Probably not. He just had to do something, had to nip this Harry-Louis thing in the — well. Not in the bud. Too late for that. Had to cut off the flower before it could go to seed. 

There was still that terrible ball of nerves in the pit of his stomach, growing tighter and tighter with every step he took down the hospital hallway. Every second it took to change into his scrubs, the nerves squeezed tighter. The urge to flee was omnipresent. But he couldn’t, had to go to work, and had to somehow do  _ something.  _

“Hey, Lou,” Jade tried to greet him, as he passed her. The smile he attempted was choked and twisted, but he didn’t stop long enough to allow her to express any concern. Where was Harry? Was he about to appear? What was Louis supposed to  _ do? _

Dr. Edwards was already in the room, writing details on the whiteboard. Louis didn’t greet her, thanking everything that she was too engaged to react to his arrival. What was he supposed to do? How could he fix this? 

Harry opened the door, and stepped into the room. Louis did not look up. Louis would stare at this table top for the rest of his damn life, if he could. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, could picture the way his forehead would wrinkle into a slow, confused frown, the way he would drop open his mouth to try and say something, to say — 

“Ah, Harry, brill,” Dr. Edwards said, before anything could happen. “Let’s get started then.” She popped the lid back on the pen and turned to talk to them, stifling a yawn. “New patient today. He’s moved from Aberdeen so we’ll now be looking after him and checking up on him regularly. Kid was born with coarctation of the aorta and a bicuspid aortic valve, had major heart surgery as a baby with various complications,” she slid his chart across the table to show the list, “and is now nine years old. As far as I’m aware he’s fit as a fiddle but you just need to meet with him, talk things over, and do a few routine checks so this hospital has all the up-to-date information in case anything happens. Sound legit?”

“Um, yeah,” Harry agreed quietly, his voice gruff from the space next to Louis. Louis had still not looked in his direction. 

Dr. Edwards paused, slightly, and her eyes flicked from one to the other. She looked like she was considering asking if everything was alright. Louis caught her eye and hoped his expression adequately conveyed how much he  _ didn’t _ want her to do that. She seemed to take the hint.

“Right, well, cool,” she said awkwardly, after a moment. “Harry if you could...sort that out, then. Lou, I need you to deal with that stuff Dr. Fletcher was talking about the other day. Okay?”

Louis hummed his assent, offering a half-grimace-smile. One of Dr. Edwards’ perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitched upwards, before she cleared her throat.

“Cool,” she said again, hesitantly, and then picked up a pile of sheets from the table. “Well, I’m on rounds. Come find me if you need anything, or you’ve finished.”

She left the room quickly. Louis continued to stare at the table. He knew he had to fix this, somehow, but he didn’t know where to start.

Beside him, Harry cleared his throat. “Um,” he said, and then paused. “Lou?” 

“Hey,” Louis said, quietly. He still hadn’t looked up. He still didn’t know what to do. 

“Are you, like…” Harry stopped himself. There was rustling, as though he was shifting uncomfortably. “Look, I um. I know maybe we — I? — shouldn’t have done that when we were so. You know. Drunk.”

Oh. God. What was with Harry and fucking  _ apologising  _ every time they did something stupid? Was it all some grand master plan to make Louis feel like an awful person? 

“And I, wanted to ask,” Harry was stumbling on, “whether you were — no, that’s obvious. Obviously you’re not fine with it. So I guess I really wanted to say, you know, sorry, I guess. It shouldn’t have happened like that. But that doesn’t mean —”

“Stop,” Louis gritted out, before Harry could say anything further. “Just  _ stop,  _ okay?” 

Harry did. Louis, for the first time since creeping out of Harry’s bedroom in the cold dawn light, turned and looked at him. His eyes were painfully, terribly soft, and earnest. Louis wished that he still hated him. 

“Please stop,” he said again, only he wasn’t talking about Harry speaking, anymore. Anger suddenly flared up, hot and dangerous. “Stop making this something it isn’t!”

Harry reeled back, surprised. His face showed that deep, confused frown Louis had been picturing earlier.

“What?” he asked, slowly.

“Stop acting like this  _ means something!”  _ Louis snapped. “Like — like — this was ever anything but a bit of fun to pass the time. A — a — a way to get along. A  _ stupid  _ way,  _ fuck,  _ obviously, but, but...a way nonetheless! That’s all this fucking is, Harry!”

Harry stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Just people who regularly get off!” Louis cried. “That’s what we said! That’s all this is! And we let it get too far and —” 

“So fucking  _ what,  _ that’s what we said?” Harry demanded, suddenly catching on. “What the fuck does that matter? That was  _ weeks  _ ago!”

“We let it get too far,” Louis continued loudly, ignoring him. “And I’m putting a stop to it. It was a stupid fucking idea in the first place and it ends now! So don’t come in here and make this something it isn’t!”

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” Harry snapped. “Don’t you dare act like this is some one-sided — some, some —  _ delusion!” _

Uh oh. Dangerous ground.

“I’ve said what I need to,” Louis told him, and stood up. “Now we have to get on to work.”

“Bullshit!” Harry growled, standing too. “You’re not ending this here, Louis, are you  _ kidding me?”  _

“See!” Louis cried, wildly vindicated. “What is this doing, right now? It’s getting in the way of our fucking job, which is why this whole setup was such a terrible idea in the first place!”

“You can’t just blindside a guy with something like this and then go on your merry fucking way to work!” Harry snarled, stepping in between Louis and the door. “And are you seriously trying to tell me this has meant  _ nothing  _ to you the entire time?”

“Get the fuck out of my way, Harry.”

“Do you think I’m an  _ idiot?  _ That you can make some angry comment and I’ll just let this whole thing slide away?!”   


“We work in a  _ hospital,”  _ Louis placed two hands flat on Harry’s chest and  _ shoved,  _ hard. The fact that he stumbled showed just how much this conversation had thrown him. “You may feel quite at liberty to stand around and chitchat about our personal lives in a frankly  _ unnecessary  _ argument, but I know I have a medical job to do, so fucking  _ excuse me,  _ Dr. Styles.”

With that, he pushed past Harry and wrenched open the door, chest pounding. 

“We are not done talking about this!” Harry vowed from behind him, frustration heavy in his words. “I swear to God, Louis!”

“Fuck off, Harry,” Louis let the door fall obnoxiously into his face, and stormed off. 

 

***

 

Louis didn’t feel like he’d fixed things. Well, he hadn’t completely, yet — but that answer didn’t seem to explain the enduring feeling in his stomach. The thought of fixing it completely, Harry avoiding him, the two of them falling back into an uneasy existence as angry rivals, was unpalatable to say the least. But, hey. At least he wouldn’t have to endure it for long — only two weeks before one of them would leave this hospital for good, and they could be out of each other’s lives. 

That thought didn’t seem to make him feel better, either. He went around his job trying not to think about it — he’d done the hard bit, now he just had to stick it out — but it was just. Really hard not to think about it. Harry wasn’t done talking about it, and Louis wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer. The whole damn hospital seemed to be gearing up against him. Take Niall, for instance. 

“Alright, Tommo?” said Irishman asked him later on that day, leaning cheerfully against his mop and smirking. “You and Harry have fun yesterday?”

Louis knew Niall wasn’t saying it to be cruel. He knew that. It stung, nonetheless. 

“That’s not…” Louis tried, voice croaky, and then coughed, rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Me and Harry aren’t like that, Niall.”

Niall huffed out a laugh. “I think I know what I saw in that club there, Lou, and it wasn’t friendship.”

Louis tried not to flinch. “Trust me, Niall,” he swallowed. “It’s...really not as simple as that.”

Niall frowned, taking his weight off the mop to properly assess Louis. “Hey, you alright, mate?”

“I’m fine,” Louis gritted his teeth. “And I really ought to be getting back to work, so. See you.”

“Oi, you sure?” Niall called after him, but Louis ignored him, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration for a moment before continuing. 

Louis managed to get through till the late afternoon without talking to Harry. This he achieved by skipping lunch like a coward and desperately jumping at things to occupy himself with, and it was exhausting. Dr. Edwards kept giving him searching looks, trying to figure out what was going on, but each time he managed to quell her with an uncooperative expression.

Louis knew he couldn’t put this off forever, though. During lunch his phone vibrated with messages from Harry.

_ Fuck’s sake, Louis. _

_ You have to let me talk to you about this.  _

_ Whatever dumb story you’re trying to tell me about this meaning nothing, I don’t believe it.  _

Louis felt his stomach wobble at the sight of the texts. He set his jaw and left them on read. He was simply fixing his mistakes, that was all. Maybe if he kept his wits about him, he could postpone their next awful conversation until tomorrow.

 

***

 

He wasn’t able to put the next conversation off until tomorrow. Louis wasn’t really sure what his plan had been, anyway — he just knew he had to resolve this calamity of a situation as best as he could. And it was two weeks, only, that he had to deal with this. Less than that, even. He’d even thought maybe he could simply avoid Harry until Dr. Edwards made her decision. Except...that had been a ridiculous thought. He had no guarantee that Dr. Edwards would make her decision on the dot at the end of the month, and besides, he and Harry worked together all day. There was simply no way he could avoid a one-on-one conversation for over a week.  _ God, this was really messing with his head. _

And, more than that. What if Harry didn’t give up even once Dr. Edwards made her decision? Louis couldn’t afford to think such things. 

He would simply have to show Harry that all they’d been doing was passing the time. Maybe if you say something with enough gusto, you start to believe it yourself.

Harry cornered him at the end of their shift, as Louis was shutting his locker door. 

“Louis,” he said urgently, and marched right up next to him. “Louis, I’m not gonna let you derail this. And this doesn’t have to be a long conversation if you just  _ listen  _ to me, so don’t go yelling about us wasting time. Okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Louis snapped, hackles immediately up, and wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grip. “We had a stupid, casual thing, and now I’m ending it. What’s not to fucking get?”

Harry made an expression of confused disbelief. “What’s not to get?” he repeated. “I — what the  _ fuck,  _ Louis? Have you been asleep the last couple of weeks? I honestly don’t understand where this is coming from!”

“What?” Louis scoffed. “Did you think we were serious, or something? Official?  _ Dating?  _ We were two people who hated each other letting off a little steam so as to get along better in the workplace. It was a shitty idea, and we won’t be working together much longer anyway, so now I’m putting a stop to it.”

Harry’s disbelief took on a furious quality. “Are you fucking  _ kidding me?”  _ he demanded. “So this is about the goddamn job, then? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Oh, don’t twist this into something it’s not,” Louis rolled his eyes, vicious. “Don’t act like this is some important excuse. I am  _ ending  _ our  _ casual agreement.” _ _   
_

“Are you gonna fucking tell me why you’re doing this, then?” Harry took an angry step forward. “Are you gonna admit that you’re still so fucking insecure about this job that you let it dominate everything you say to me?”

Louis’ grit his teeth. That hurt. But then maybe the pain was good: it could spur him on to do the right thing. 

“It’s not about the  _ job,”  _ he growled. “Or — maybe it is. Mostly it’s just that this whole thing was a stupid fucking idea in the first place, and I’m finally having the sense to end it.”   


“Stupid  _ how?”  _ Harry demanded. “Yeah, I’ll admit: it was a dumb idea at the beginning. But I will not believe for a  _ second  _ that you can look me in the eyes and tell me that what we have is the same now as when it started.”   


“You mean what we had. Enough with the present tense.”   


“Don’t lie to me, Louis! Don’t pretend I was the only one feeling it!”   


“Jesus Christ, Harry, you really believed we were a thing, didn’t you?”

“Oh,  _ bullshit,”  _ Harry spat, looking terribly hurt. “As if you didn’t, too.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, mate,” Louis gave a cruel shrug of his shoulders. “We were just passing the time.”

“Stop  _ saying  _ that!” Harry cried, and he grabbed Louis by the front of his scrubs. “I know you’re lying; I just don’t get why! Why are you pretending it didn’t mean anything?”

“Because it didn’t!” Louis shoved Harry’s hands away, heart beating faster at the feeling of him being so close. “Honestly, how deluded do you have to  _ be?” _

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Lou,” Harry grabbed at him again, despite his words. “Stop acting like this!”   


“I’m not acting like anything, except the truth!” Louis swore. “I guess I’m sorry if this is hurting you, but it’s all we ever were! And now I don’t want to do it anymore!”

“You’re honestly trying to tell me that that night over the weekend — was...what? Completely casual?”   


“I’m an affectionate drunk, what’s your point?” Louis explained, taking Harry’s wrists and pulling his hands away again. 

“Oh!” Harry scoffed. “So you’ve been drunk this whole time, have you?”

“I’m sorry if you got the wrong fucking end of the stick,” Louis told him, exasperated. “But we’ve just been playing around, Harry. This has all just been a distraction! I thought you knew that!”

“Why are you  _ saying  _ this?” Harry demanded again. “What’s going on? I don’t understand what’s changed!”

“Nothing, that’s the point!” Louis shouted. “Nothing changed! This is still just as bad an idea as it ever was! So I’m ending it!”

Harry was silent for a moment, breathing hard and staring at Louis. His eyes were shiny. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?” he asked, softly. Louis groaned.

“For fuck’s  _ sake!”  _ he cried. “Aren’t you  _ listening  _ to me? There’s no secret meaning! God, has no one ever ended something with you before? Jesus Christ, Harry. I’m going home.” 

“Louis, don’t you fucking walk out that door again!” Harry begged. Louis ignored him, pushing past.

“I’m — I’m sorry,” he said again, pausing in the doorway despite himself. “I’m just being honest.”

  
  


***

 

Harry still didn’t believe him. Louis just didn’t get it — was he not being harsh enough? He was doing the  _ right  _ thing, dammit! Why was this so goddamn hard?

But Harry tried to talk to him again after Dr. Edwards’ morning debrief that next day; Louis told him he’d said all he needed to. He sent Louis confused and entreating looks every time they passed each other. His tone was distracted and upset when they discussed their responsibilities for the day. Louis had a hope during lunch, when Harry stayed dutifully on his side of the table listening to Jade and Jesy chat and let Louis talk to Zayn, that maybe he was getting the hint. Except that he cornered him again at the end of their shift.

“Louis,” his voice sounded from somewhere behind Louis as he was zipping up his rucksack. Louis squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake,” he sighed, and stood up to look at him. Harry’s jaw flexed.

“I just want you to tell me why you’re doing this,” he said. “I don’t understand why you’re lying about what’s been going on between us. That  _ wasn’t  _ just casual, Louis, and you know that! If you just told me what’s going on in your head maybe we could work through it!”   


“Christ, Harry, I’ve  _ told  _ you,” Louis groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He was really fucking tired of constantly rehashing this same conversation. It hurt too much to have to do over and over.

“Bullshit,” Harry snapped, voice thick. “You’ve told me fucking nothing! And I refuse to just let you sabotage this without some sort of explanation. I mean maybe, maybe if you stopped feeling it, then yeah, I guess. But you can’t expect me to believe that you’re delusional enough to have believed it was all just —”

“Okay, fine!” Louis cried, waving a hand. His heart was beating fast. He really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to be saying this. “It  _ was _ turning into more than just casual. But I didn’t want it to. Okay? I don’t feel that way. So would you just — !  _ Please.  _ Fucking...respect that, okay?”

There was a heavy silence where Harry studied him from across the room. Louis felt the weight of the silence pushing down at him like nothing else. He wanted to look away, wanted to be anywhere but here...but he couldn’t. He felt like he was seconds away from crying, and he couldn’t blow his cover like that.

Harry slowly inhaled and exhaled. If he cried, there was no hope for Louis maintaining his cool. God, please don’t let Harry cry.

“I just don’t buy that,” Harry said, eventually. His voice was small, and he offered a pathetic little shrug of his shoulders. “I just  _ don’t _ , Louis. I don’t think you’re being honest with me, and I don’t know why you’re not, but you’re...not. You wanna be with me, Louis. You’re just scared, or, or not thinking, or... _ something.  _ I’m sure of it.”

Louis never imagined anyone would ever have this much faith in him. He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge; it was — terrifying. It was ripping holes in his determination, and filling him with some reluctant, strangled affection, and he couldn’t  _ have  _ that right now.

“Why do you  _ believe  _ that?” he could only ask, thrown, and hated the near pleading tone in his voice. A look of incredulity took over Harry’s face.

“Because,” he made an aborted gesture, words tight and desperate. “Because,  _ dammit,  _ Louis, I —” but he broke off, eyes searching, like the word was stuck in his throat. “Because I…” and he let out a staggered, juttering sigh, dragged a hand over his face, and when he spoke next it was quiet and resigned. “Because I do, okay. Even though you’re insufferable, and confusing, and sometimes just, just — just  _ mean —  _ I...I do. Christ, Louis, I do. God help me.”

Louis wasn’t so sure they were talking about believing anymore. He wasn’t so sure he knew how to breathe, at that. Harry was still looking right at him, eyes creased in this little frown, waiting for some kind of answer — some kind of  _ reassurance,  _ maybe, that Louis believed in him too — but it wasn’t going to come. All Louis wanted was to somehow get out of this without getting hurt, to think of the solution that would let him escape unscathed before he...but he was so despairingly afraid that maybe it was too late. That maybe he sort of did believe in Harry.

“Well you believed wrong,” he said, quietly, and the light was reflected in Harry’s eyes, and nothing hardened inside of him because it was already stone. “Please, just. Let this go, Harry.”

Harry swallowed. “If you’re sure,” he said, quietly. Miserably. “If you’re sure, I guess I have no choice but to respect that.”

This was exactly what Louis had been trying to achieve. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Okay,” Harry, said after a moment. He looked away. “Goodnight, Lou.” 

The door shut softly behind him, leaving Louis alone.

 

***

 

It was safe to say the next two days felt like some of the worst of Louis’ life. They probably weren’t, objectively, but they were certainly bad. He kept lying awake at night, bone tired to his core with exhaustion after a long shift, but trapped into consciousness by an awful hollow feeling inside of him. His mind would replay that terrible transition of Harry’s facial expressions: earnest, confused, angry, upset, and then resigned. The glimmering threat of unshed tears in his eyes, the beginnings of a blotchy colouring to his cheeks. Louis kept feeling the rasp and desperate hitch of his own shaky breaths rattling in his lungs, a ghost of the way he’d fought down his own emotions to stay resilient and do the right thing.

Because he’d done the  _ right thing,  _ dammit. Louis knew that, at least. Louis had to know that. Had to at least know that, because if he didn’t, then —- but he did. It had been the right thing. To have turned their ill-advised agreement into something serious, just as Dr. Edwards gave one of them the job and fired the other, would have been just...a  _ terrible  _ idea. It would never have worked. You just can’t start a romantic... _ whatever  _ under circumstances like that.

Louis had had to make a painful, difficult adult decision. And it had hurt both of them, obviously — but it had had to be done. Because the alternative was to get too involved altogether, to recklessly throw themselves into something serious, and then be torn apart when one of them   got the other’s job. And that would have hurt, just —  _ infinitely  _ more. So it had been the right decision.

But, God. Louis wished he hadn’t had to make that decision. 

On both of those two days, he had to come into work and sit in a small room with only Harry and Dr. Edwards. He had to smile, and nod, and engage — because he had a job to do, and a job to earn, after all — and he had to sit beside Harry the whole way through. Try to not think about how it had felt to kiss him, and to casually touch him, and to laugh with him. To lay in bed with him and pant and grin drowsily, happily, dazed and flushed. That Louis had only been able to do that once felt like the most acute injustice in the world. At the same time, he wished he’d never experienced it at all. 

When Dr. Edwards would finish talking, Louis would grab his stuff quickly. Harry would do the same, silently, and they’d both leave the room as promptly as they could. Louis snuck an ill-advised and indulgent glance at Harry on the first day, and was met with a deadpan expression and a tight mouth. It was such a jolting, far cry from the warm expression he’d grown accustomed to, Louis had to look away as though burnt, his stomach plummeting. He didn’t look again. 

In a way, being at work was a blessing. Louis could focus on their patients, on listening to heartbeats and scanning charts and scheduling tests. Could turn his mind to the list of symptoms Dr. Edwards would write up on the whiteboard and flick through possible fits in his mind. When he was doing this, he wasn’t thinking about Harry. At least not in his most prominent thoughts. 

Harry was there, though. Sitting beside him and offering his own suggestions, just as strangely engaging as ever with his stupidly slow, deadpan voice. Even with Louis having hurt him. Sometimes, Louis would have to pass him the patient’s chart and work extra hard to not let their fingers brush. He had to figure out where Harry was most likely to be and try and avoid that place as best he could.

Even when Harry wasn’t actually in front of him, though, he was still there. He was there in the looks everyone kept giving him, the question constantly flickering in Dr. Edwards’ eyes when they sat in thick tension, as far apart as the table let them. He was there in the way Jade asked if everything was okay, concern etched into the cute frown of her forehead. Louis tried to avoid Niall, too, after he kept trying to ask him about it, eyes earnest and  _ here for you, mate. _

But then he found himself awfully, terribly lonely, because he didn’t want to talk to Zayn either. Zayn, who hadn’t even seemed to notice anything was up until someone must have pointed it out to him. He’d been too dazzlingly, perfectly happy with Liam. And Louis was glad for him! Honestly, he was. Zayn and Liam getting together was something he’d wanted for the longest time, and he was blown away that Zayn’s dream had come true, and that he got to be disgustingly in love in a supportive, mushy relationship. It just hurt, a little bit, to see Zayn enjoying exactly what Louis had felt on the verge of achieving, if only life hadn’t got in the way. 

So Louis didn’t really feel able to talk to anyone, to be honest. None of his hospital friends would want to make idle conversation sensing that something had happened between him and Harry, and all of his other friends would surely be quick to ask after the finer details of his life, interested in catching up. Louis didn’t want any searching conversations about what had happened and why he’d done it; he didn’t want to have to search for positive things about his life to offer down a phone line — he just wanted to  _ talk.  _ To offer meaningless jokes and grin with someone. To pretend for a moment that everything was alright, that he was alright. But he couldn’t really do that, right now. So those two days were really fucking lonely.

“Louis,” Dr. Edwards lingered, late in the afternoon of the first day, in the hallway after they left a patient’s room. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, babe? What’s up with you and Harry?”   


“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Louis told her — which was true. But he especially didn’t want to talk to Dr. Edwards about it. She’d probably feel like it was somehow her fault for being tasked with the responsibility of firing or hiring them, and then he’d have to end up comforting her. “I’m sorry, I just...can I get on to my WIC shift?” 

She made a sympathetic expression, and nodded. Louis offered a weak smile of gratitude, and went on his way. If he focused on the job, he’d feel better. He had to keep telling himself that. He couldn’t fall into the all too tempting trap of indulging his thoughts:  _ I want to go home.  _ The very thought of dropping his bag on the chair next to the front door in his mum’s house, kicking off his shoes, and falling onto the sofa was so appealing his very heart throbbed for it. To feel the tension ebb out of his muscles and finally allow that deep exhaustion to come to the surface, maybe with a sibling or two sitting on his feet and under a blanket, squabbling faintly over the remote. Perhaps his mum would come in and run a comforting hand through his hair and shush Doris. Louis would be warm, and comfortable, and so very far away from everything that was happening right now.

This was the kind of fantasy Louis couldn’t let himself indulge in. Every time he slipped up and thought the words —  _ I want to go home —  _ he would feel the hot burn of tears behind his eyes, and quickly blink them and the thought away. He was all grown up, now, and he had to deal with things on his own. 

So, yeah. Even though those two days were only two days, they felt like years. Time stretched and dragged, and Louis was sad and tired and lonely. He blinked back tears and put his head down and put on painfully fake smiles for the patients and their families. Each second felt like a personal challenge, to keep working and standing and not collapse in a ball of melodrama and sadness.

Those two days felt like some of the worst of Louis’ life. And then came the third day.

 

***

 

Louis didn’t see it coming. He was so wrapped up in his own problems and trying to focus on his current patients, he just didn’t see it coming. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have seen it coming even if he hadn’t had so much personal drama — she’d been  _ released,  _ cured — but all the same. He couldn’t help but feel like he should have seen it coming.

Surely he should have had some sort of warning — in another world he might have had some sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach as he walked into A&E. After all, what were the odds he would need to talk to Dr. Fletcher, and walk through the door at just the right moment? He might have been able to look back on it and say, shaking his head, “I just knew something was off.” 

But he hadn’t. And he was completely blindsided. Totally unprepared to walk through that door and hear shouts of orders and the sound of hurried feet, the squeaking wheels of a stretcher on the polished floor. Totally unprepared to see Liam, face taut and concentrated, pushing said stretcher and barking the details of the patient. Of the little girl lying thin and unconscious and small on the stretcher. Her eyes were shut, but Louis knew immediately, as his stomach gave a deathly drop, that open they would be big and dark and curious. 

Sara. 

Liam was reporting, as nurses flittered around him, checking her vitals and attaching an IV. Somehow, Louis was able to drag his attention away from the sight to process what was being said: Sara’s kidneys had failed, severely. The ambulance had been called when she started seizing, and she’d fallen unconscious on the ride here. There was no uncertainty in Liam’s tone, and his face remained grave as the nurses rushed Sara off to the ICU for immediate action: Sara had severe acute kidney failure. But how? She’d had  _ myocarditis,  _ for Christ’s sake. It just didn’t make any sense. 

“Dr. Tomlinson!” someone gasped in front of him, and Louis looked up to see Anita, face tracked with tears. She seemed to have noticed him halfway through being addressed by a nurse, and left the conversation to rush up to him. “Dr. Tomlinson, I don’t understand,” she wept. “You said she was better. You  _ released  _ her _. _ ”

“I—” Louis stammered, at a loss in a way most terribly unprofessional. 

“How could you send her back?” Anita demanded, makeup smeared down her cheeks. “How could you let this happen?”

“Ms. Shah, please, follow me,” the nurse spoke up from behind her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “We need you to sign some things.” 

Anita let herself be led away, leaving Louis to stand there and blink.  _ How could you let this happen?  _

He had to tell Dr. Edwards and Harry, had to work out what on earth had happened, but he couldn’t seem to get control of his heart. Could barely breathe around the awful, piercing horror within his stomach. Was this —?  _ One day a patient will die, and it will be your fault.  _

Blindly, Louis paged Dr. Edwards, and then went on in the direction they had been taking Sara. He had to figure out what was happening to her before it was too late.

 

***

“It  _ was  _ myocarditis,” Dr. Edwards surmised, running a drawn-out hand down her uncharacteristically makeup-free face. “It just can’t have been caused by the cold.” 

Her bare face made her look tired, and older than she normally did. Her hair was bundled back in an untidy bun, and she blinked and grimaced at Sara’s chart. Louis felt terribly, terribly sick. All three of them were tired, and drained, but he wondered if Harry and Dr. Edwards felt quite as frightened as he did. The last thing he wanted to do was make it about himself, but — but. 

“I was the one who said it must have been the cold,” Louis said quietly. He fixated on the fake-wood design of the table surface, and wished more than anything that he could go back and do it right. Dr. Edwards sighed.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Louis,” she said, mouth twisted. “We can’t change what we did. We can only work with it.”

“And that cold, I mean,” Harry swallowed, and gave a half-hearted raise of his shoulders. “It was one hell of a coincidence.” 

This felt like one of the only things Harry had said to him in some years. Somehow, it only made the tight discomfort in Louis’ throat more prominent. He hated the dull tone to Harry’s voice. He hated that Sara was back in here because of his mistake. 

“We just have to figure out what was really causing her myocarditis,” Dr. Edwards moved on. “It’s clearly still affecting her — we fell into the most basic mistake, to treat the symptom, the myocarditis, and not the actual issue. So: what do we know? Whatever it is, it led to myocarditis, so it affected her heart, and now it’s dramatically affected her kidneys. It must be relatively slow-working, but serious, something that maybe spreads from organ to organ. Can we think of any other symptoms she had that might point it out?”   


Harry cleared his throat. “Do we suppose the cold might still have been relevant?” 

“Something to do with her immune system?” Louis suggested, swallowing around the persistent guilt and fear in his throat in an attempt to actually get something done.

“Maybe we aren’t the right department to deal with this,” Harry pointed out, gruff. “If her heart problems were only one symptom.”

“I think you’re right,” Dr. Edwards sighed. “It just feels a shame we weren’t able to catch whatever it is first time.”

“She had a nosebleed,” Louis said, remembering. “Anita said she gets them a lot and I thought — well, what’s a nosebleed got to do with myocarditis — but it’s got to be linked, surely.”

Dr. Edwards wrote it down. “Good memory,” she said, but her mouth remained down-turned. “I’m still not so sure we really ought to be dealing with this case anymore, though. It’d be better to leave this to people better prepared to diagnose something like this.”

Louis’ heart sank. So he’d fucked up, and he wouldn’t even be able to fix it. “Dr. Edwards —” he began, but Dr. Edwards shook her head.

“We’re cardiologists, Louis. It’s not Sara’s heart that’s the problem. We need to admit when we’re out of our depth, and we are. Harry,”—she gathered up her notes—“would you take this to Dr. Fletcher and tell him I’m transferring Sara’s case to diagnostics? It includes her original list of symptoms and the record of her cold.”

Harry accepted the papers and nodded. Louis studied Dr. Edwards’ face as Harry left the room, and her features fell back into resignation. She nervously brought a hand up to chew at her thumbnail, and then grimaced.

“I just wish we could have caught it,” she said, quietly, and then shook herself. “But it’s for the best that it’s out of my hands now. Sara will —”

Louis had had a terrible thought. “Dr. Edwards,” he said, slowly. She looked at him. “Dr. Edwards, you know it was us. It was me and Harry. It was  _ our  _ fault.”

Dr. Edwards’ mouth quirked sadly. “It’s not that simple, Louis.”

“Yes it is,” Louis argued, sitting up straighter. “It  _ is  _ that simple: she was our patient. We should have caught it. I should have caught it. It was my mistake, it was —”

“But I’m your supervisor, Louis,” she interrupted, miserable. “I overlook everything you do. That makes your mistakes  _ my  _ mistakes, and you two — fuck’s sake, you’re still on trial period. I should never have been so lax. I should have triple checked everything you did, and as the one with the authority and the one with the experience I should have caught your mistake — that’s my job! That’s why I’m here! To see what you don’t. But I didn’t. I was lacklustre and unprofessional.” She took a breath, frazzled. “And you know what the worst part is, Louis? If it had been any other patient maybe I would have caught your mistake. But it wasn’t, and I — Jesus. I let my own opinions of Anita cloud my perception of her daughter, and because of that Sara almost died. Because I didn’t take her mother seriously.”

Louis could only stare at her, uncertain of what to say, as she angrily wiped at tearful eyes.

“This may have been you and Harry’s mistake,” she said, “but it’s mine too. And at the end of the day I’m the one to blame.” 

Louis felt his face twist, upset at seeing her like this. “Dr. Edwards,” he tried again, but she abruptly stood up. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway, Louis,” she sniffed. “What matters is that Sara gets better, and we’re not the ones who can best see that she does. I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but — it just doesn’t matter. Excuse me.”

Dr. Edwards left the room, and Louis let his eyes blur with hot unshed tears for the first time since they’d rushed Sara in. In that moment, he’d never felt smaller. It felt like all Louis had done in the past however much time was make mistakes and hurt people. He’d let himself get into an awful mess with Harry and then hurt him trying to fix it. He’d misdiagnosed the cause of Sara’s myocarditis, and released her only to let her almost die. And in doing so, he’d hurt Dr. Edwards by making her feel it was her fault.

It wasn’t her fault. It was unquestionably, unarguably Louis’ fault.  _ One day a patient will die, and it will be your fault.  _

Christ, that awful image of Sara’s feeble form trembling with the vibrations of the stretcher wheels would stay with him forever. A shock of dark hair against pale blue sheets, sending his mind spinning dizzily back to Nirmala, smiling bravely, and  _ we were no longer equipped to deal with her illness.  _ How he hadn’t even noticed she was gone. Just another person let down. 

And from Nirmala and her tiny, thin wrists, he was uncontrollably sent back to that dark time, the feeling of Ellie’s hand growing limp in his own. The awful cloud of depression and guilt that had followed him for weeks after. Guilt — it had been unjustified then, it hadn’t even been his fault, but Sara was. He could feel guilty, this time, and some part of him could gain some masochistic satisfaction from the fact that, at least now, his guilt was legitimate. Sara’s trauma — her need for a kidney transplant — was  _ his fault.  _ Louis was one step closer to reaching that point where a little child would die, because of him.

God, he never wanted to reach that point. 

 

***

 

Even though she wasn’t their patient anymore, Louis went to go check on Sara the moment he heard she’d stabilised and woken up. He almost chickened out when he peered in the window and saw Anita and Kian sitting within, but then someone was clearing their throat to his right. Louis looked round.

“Guess we had the same idea,” Harry said, offering an unconvincing smile. Louis stepped back from the door and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Feel like they deserve an apology,” Louis agreed, and then dropped his gaze to the floor. It was a little too hard to look Harry in the face and not crumble. He wondered with a gut-wrenching longing whether Harry felt as adrift as he did, if he blamed himself, too. Harry was pretty much the only person who should be able to understand how Louis was feeling right now. 

Harry made a quiet hum of agreement, and then for a long stretch of silence neither of them said anything. “Do you want me to come back later?” Harry offered uncertainly, after a moment. “If you want to go in on your own.”

“No,” Louis said it a little too quickly, looking back up at Harry, and then cleared his throat. He knew he shouldn’t find Harry a comforting presence anymore, and it was true that interacting with him now was nothing if not painful, stilted in a way that felt incomplete and unjust, but at the same time Louis really didn’t want to do this alone. “No, that’s alright. You’re already here, so.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, softly. “Alright then.” 

He gestured at the door, and Louis swallowed his pride and stepped up to knock softly on it. Anita and Kian looked up, and Louis slowly eased the door open.

“Hi,” he said, feeling small and insufficient. Kian’s face was blank as he looked away from Louis’ gaze. 

“We, uh, thought we owed you an apology visit,” Harry explained beside him, and stepped through into the room. Louis felt a dizzying rush of gratitude for his presence. 

“Feel bad, do you?” Anita asked, folding her arms. She hadn’t stood up from sitting beside Sara’s bed. “You should.” 

Louis swallowed, pained. “Ms. Shah, there’s really nothing we can say to make up for our mistake. But we really are sorry we didn’t catch this before it happened.” He directed his gaze, reluctantly, to Sara, who was propped up against several pillows, as though too weak to sit up on her own. Looking directly at her felt like digging a thumbnail into an open wound. “Sara, we let you down.”

She blinked at him, those huge dark eyes as disarmingly sweet as ever, and sniffed and shrugged. The combined attention of their guilt and apology seemed to make her uncomfortable. 

“But, hey,” Harry continued, and he stepped forward to kneel down at her side, frowning. “What happened? We agreed you were getting better, remember? You said you felt better. Is that really what happened?”

At that, Sara’s eyes widened, and her eyes swivelled to look momentarily at her mother, before returning guiltily to Harry. Anita sat up straighter.

“Sara?” she asked, frowning. 

“Were you really feeling better?” Harry asked, softly. The force of his entreating eyes seemed a little too much for Sara, and she lifted her hands, shakily, to hide her face.

“I don’t  _ like  _ it here,” she admitted in a small, ashamed voice, muffled. “And I thought — I thought — maybe I’d get better. You said my heart was fixing itself so I thought I would. I felt...worse. Tired, and poorly, and sore, but — but my breathing was better, and so I thought everything else would follow.”

“Oh, baby,” Anita sighed, reaching out a hand to pull Sara’s away from her face, and cradle them instead. “You should have  _ said  _ something.”

“I just wanted to go home,” Sara explained, tears pooling in her eyes.  “I don’t like being unwell.”

“Sara, I’m sorry you felt that way here,” Harry said, and he did sound it. “I’d hoped we might be able to make you feel more comfortable.”

Sara looked even guiltier at the disappointed tone to his voice. She pulled one of her hands back from Anita and wiped clumsily at her eyes. “I d-did like you, Dr. Styles,” she told him. “I did. It’s just so scary here.”

“I understand,” Harry told her. Louis couldn’t see his face from this perspective, but he imagined he was smiling sympathetically. “But, Sara, you have to tell us these things. We can’t help you very well if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.”

Sara nodded tremblingly, and then bit her lip. 

“Is there something else, sweetie?” Anita pressed. “You have to tell the doctors everything.” 

“I...it’s embarrassing,” she whispered.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about here,” Harry reminded her. “We all just want to help you.”

Still, she refused to look anyone in the eyes. “I kept...um. At home. There kept being...blood. When I went to the toilet.”

Anita’s face went white, but Harry just nodded. Louis wasn’t much surprised either — there’d had to have been some warning before the severe kidney failure. 

“Sweetie,” Anita choked out, looking horrified. “Sara, why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?”

Sara’s face screwed up as the tears took over, and she shook her head, gasping a sob. “I’m sorry,” she got out. “I know I did bad.”

“No, no, baby,” Anita had begun to cry a bit, too. “You were just scared, I know.”

As she spoke, there was a small sound from across the room, and Louis looked over to where Kian sat. Tears were spilling uncontrollably down his face, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his chair, watching his mum and sister. Louis made to go over to him, but the moment Kian realised Louis had seen him, he shakingly wiped at his eyes before getting up and leaving the room. 

Anita paused in the middle of a sentence at the sound of the door, looking up blearily. “Kian?” she asked.

“I’ll go after him,” Louis told her, even though the thought made him a little nervous. “Don’t worry.”

Once again, Kian was sitting out in the corridor, head in his hands. This time he was a little further from the door. 

“Hey,” Louis started, but Kian tensed and pulled his knees even closer to his chest.

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” he said into his hands, voice wobbly.

“I bet,” Louis agreed softly, guiltily, but he sat down next to him anyway. “Look, Kian, mate, I’m sorry. I... we really thought she wasn’t that sick.”

“I don’t wanna  _ talk to you!”  _ Kian repeated, lifting his head enough to glare blotchily. “You lied to me!”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Louis tried, hoping his own misery wasn’t quite so audible. “I’m sorry. You deserved better. But I honestly thought I was telling the truth.”

“Then you’re a bad doctor,” Kian shot back, wiping angrily at his tears. “You said she was  _ fine.” _

“Kian—”

“Is she gonna die?” he asked, abruptly, raising his head to level Louis directly with the fierce solemnity of his shimmering eight-year-old gaze. “You’re not allowed to lie anymore.”

Louis swallowed. “Sara needs a kidney transplant,” he told him. “The hospital is working on figuring out what’s really wrong with her. Once they have, they’ll treat it, and she’ll be able to get a transplant, and then she’ll be okay.”

“You swear?” Kian demanded. “You have to swear it.”

Louis wasn’t about to make this mistake twice. “Kian, I can’t swear it,” he admitted, slowly. “But I think she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s not  _ good  _ enough!” Kian cried, furious tears pouring down his cheeks. “She said there was —  _ blood!  _ She has to be okay!"

“I’m sorry,” Louis said again, anguished. He didn’t know what else to say.

“You  _ said!”  _ he wept. “You told me she was going to be okay! I  _ trusted  _ you!” 

“I…” Louis was at a loss. He didn’t know if this was the sort of thing he could fix. “Kian...” he tried again, but he just didn’t have anywhere to go from here. Kian didn’t care.

“I said — I  _ said  _ I didn’t want to talk to you!” he shouted, and stood up. “Why didn’t you leave me alone?”

Louis could only stare at him, wretched. God knows what his face was doing right now. 

“I wish I’d never spoken to you,” Kian finished, earnestly cruel in a way only a child can be, still crying. “I wish you’d never lied.”

With that, he turned and fled back to Sara’s room, almost knocking into Harry on his way out. Harry obligingly moved out of the way, surprised, and looked as Kian rushed inside, before turning his gaze, blinking, to where Louis still sat idiotically on the floor. Louis couldn’t be sure what his face was doing — his insides felt like they were in shreds — but it must have been something bad. Harry looked taken aback.

“Lou?” he said, unthinking. The immediate little wince that followed showed he hadn’t intended the nickname. Louis swallowed, and looked away from him. 

“Kids, huh?” he tried, weakly. “Really know how to hit hardest.”

“Louis, are you…?” Harry began, and then hesitated. “I know we’re not, um. But I also remember what you told me about...you know. I just. Do you maybe wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Louis told the floor. Harry was quiet a moment.

“Do you want me to get someone else?” 

“Please just go away,” Louis shut his eyes, unable in that second to deal with reality. To think that he’d been so happy, so relieved, only a few days ago. That he’d thought he’d finally bonded professionally with a patient. Really, all he’d done was project himself on her older brother, and had ended up just as hurt. He was starting to think he was maybe just not cut out for this, but, God. Wasn’t that a miserable thing to have to come to terms with. 

After several moments, Louis realised Harry had gone. Some part of him hadn’t actually expected him to leave. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finis! Finally, here's the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed reading this, and please let me know what you think! Thanks for sticking it out.

Granulomatosis with polyangiitis. Sara had granulomatosis with polyangiitis — a rare disease that involved inflammation of the walls of blood vessels. It started off slow and hard to detect, but gradually affected organs. Dr. Edwards said apparently it may well have been triggered by her cold, but she probably had some kind of gene making her more likely to develop it. The nosebleed might have been a symptom of the disease targeting her sinuses, or it might have just been a coincidence — Louis was no longer close enough to the case to be sure. He wished he’d been the one to diagnose her. 

He hadn’t though, and he supposed Dr. Edwards was right: all that mattered was that Sara would get better. After her transplant, she would probably need a lifetime of medication to maintain remission, and close medical monitoring, but at least she wasn’t going to die. Louis wondered uselessly whether he should have sworn to Kian that everything was going to be alright, after all. He felt like he’d done everything wrong. 

Nothing to do but get on with his life and his work, wait for Dr. Edwards to tell them her decision. Soon, he and Harry would be out of each other’s lives. He felt too tired to really bring himself to pretend that made him anything but miserable. 

And maybe Harry could tell, that his resolve had weakened. Louis’ eyes lingered on him a bit more, that was true. In his current state he just didn’t think he had the emotional strength to keep himself from looking — to look was to feel both pained and strangely consoled. There was just something about the very way Harry held himself, the earnest seriousness of his professional demeanour, that brought Louis comfort. He wished he could touch, and hold him, be held, but he’d settle for looking. 

Louis also supposed that Harry, too, must still be struggling. He certainly seemed sadder, more subdued, than he had before Louis went and stubbed everything out. He knew he’d had his reasons, but maybe it was a little hard to remember them right now. 

So he couldn’t help but let it happen, when Harry lingered with him again after their shift. 

“Louis,” he said, and the hopeless tone to his voice was really fucking something. “Louis, I just have to ask you something.”

Louis sat down on the bench, a little heavily, and looked up at him expectantly. He wished he lived in a reality where he would be able to kiss him, and fall asleep tangled in his arms.

“I know I said I’d respect what you said, but…” he swallowed, pained. “Did you really mean it?”

Louis didn’t answer a moment. Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, or the disarmingly resigned tone to Harry’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep up the pretence. Perhaps after all that had happened in the past days, Harry deserved some honesty.

“I did,” he said, “and I didn’t.”

Harry looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Louis rubbed at his eye.

“You were right,” he admitted. “It was turning into something more, and it’s true that I didn’t want that to happen.”

Harry’s eyes dulled a little, and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“But not because I...didn’t want it, you know?” Louis continued, scanning Harry’s face for a sign he understood. “There were times I...wanted nothing more, Harry.”

Harry frowned, then. “So why?” he asked, taking a step forward. “Why did you…?”

“Because it’s a bad idea!” Louis cried, suddenly incapable of remaining calm. “Dr. Edwards is literally  _ just  _ about to make a decision! You don’t start...things under those circumstances! It would end badly!”

“It doesn’t have to,” Harry vowed, crossing the room to kneel in front of Louis. His eyes were light, now, intense, and — oh. This was a bad idea. He’d been doing so well. “Louis — who says this has to end badly?”

“It just would,” Louis told him, miserable. “There’s no way something so new could survive one of us getting fired and the other not. And that would only hurt more.”

“Says who?” Harry demanded. “Who’s to say we wouldn’t survive it?”

_ “Me,”  _ Louis cried. “I say it! I — I mean come  _ on _ , Harry. You know how badly we both want this job.”

Harry stared at him, and then pulled back again. “That would really be a deal-breaker for you?” he asked, hurt. “If I got the job, you honestly couldn’t…?”

Louis felt hot under his gaze, and not in a good way. “Well I don’t want to think that it would,” he said, avoiding Harry’s eyes and chewing his lower lip. “But I...I don’t know, you know? I mean  _ no,  _ but...but you’d be here with all my friends and all my patients and what if I just couldn’t get over that? I wouldn’t  _ want  _ it to but maybe sometimes...if we fought...and I mean I can be a selfish bastard sometimes, Harry, you of all people know that.” He snuck a glance up at him, saw the downwards slant of his eyebrows, and felt a pang of guilt. “I just...I can’t be sure that I wouldn’t....what if I never let myself be happy because of it?”

There was a pause, with Harry swallowing and searching his face. “And have you?” he asked eventually, not the response Louis was expecting.

“What?” 

“Have you been happy, these past days?” 

Louis felt a little like he ought to flinch. _“Happy?”_ he echoed, horrified. “Of course I haven’t — you know that I — ” he broke off, unable to articulate himself better, and threw up his hands. “God, Harry, what kind of question _is_ that?” 

“Then  _ why?”  _  Harry demanded immediately, harsher than Louis was expecting. “Why would you think this was the better alternative? You’re telling me it’s a choice between maybe unhappy and definitely unhappy and you picked  _ definitely?” _

Louis was a little thrown, actually, by the logic of Harry’s words. “I…”

“Because listen to me, Louis,” Harry continued, desperately, and he stepped forward and took Louis’ hands. “I think we could be happy. I think we could be really, really  _ happy.”  _

The last word was broken by the ghost of a smile, a pleading tilt to Harry’s eyes as though imagining good things. Louis felt slightly short of breath.

“And if you were unhappy...God, it’s not that difficult, okay? If you were really unhappy, we’d just break up. I wouldn’t  _ want  _ to, but it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. Just to give this a shot.”

Harry took a breath, still staring at Louis with terrifying intensity, and he was stroking the back of his hands now. 

“And I wouldn’t care, okay? Just for the record. You getting the job isn’t going to change things for me. Not this.”

Oh. Time, for a moment, seemed to stretch. Had Louis ever been able to breathe? Had there ever been an existence outside of this moment, right here? Outside of the urgent fire of Harry’s eyes and the feeling of his hands? 

Except, yes. There had been. That’s why...that’s why they couldn’t.

“I just don’t know,” Louis whispered. “I want...I wish I could tell you something different. But I just don’t know.” 

Gradually, the fire dimmed from Harry’s eyes again, and he nodded, letting go of Louis’ hands. 

“Well, I…” he seemed to be searching for something to say. Louis hated making him feel unsure. “Thanks for explaining, I guess.”

Louis, absurdly, wanted to laugh at how horrible this was. He just managed to swallow down the bitter laughter. “Any time.”

“Um. Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis shook his head, and didn’t get up. “Goodnight, Harry.”

  
  


***

 

How could Harry be so sure, so achingly certain that losing his job wouldn’t colour his feelings towards Louis? Louis would give his heart to have that kind of conviction. This was his  _ dream job.  _ It had always been. And maybe it brought him anxiety but… 

Louis’ thoughts found themselves at a standstill. But...  _ what? _ Could he really say that his job brought him any happiness? The people, yes, but the actual job? Harry seemed to think Louis’ attitude to the job was obsessive, and maybe he was right. Louis didn’t feel like there was another setting for the way he approached his job. That couldn’t be healthy. These days, when Louis thought of his work, all he could see was children dying, or almost, in front of him. Ellie, Nirmala, Sara. How many more would there be? How many more before he up and broke?

This was his dream. It had always been his dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream job. Did he really want to stay doing this, each day getting closer to the day he would be the reason for a child’s death? Was that really something he wanted enough to throw away his potential with Harry? You’re supposed to put yourself first, Louis knew that. You shouldn’t throw everything away for a relationship. But maybe Louis wasn’t exactly putting himself first when doing this job, either.

 

***

 

“Hello?”

“Hi, mum,” Louis shifted, holding the phone to his ear. “You doing okay?”

“Lou! It’s been a while, baby. Yeah, we’re all doing good! Missing you, though. When are you gonna come and see us again?”

“Um, I dunno. I’ll see if I can drive over on my next day-off, maybe?”

“Yeah, that’d be lovely,” he could hear the warm smile in her voice. “The twins would be over the moon.”

“Yeah. Um. Mum?” he asked, tentatively.

Jo tutted knowingly. “Is something up, Lou?”  

He swallowed. “Um. I dunno. Can I ask...it sounds way serious, but. Uh. Do you think, like. I picked the right job?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think that’s not really for me to answer,” she said eventually. “Only you can decide whether you’re doing the sort of thing you want to be doing. And that can be a fulfilling, purposeful job that really means something to you, or it can be a job you’re content with, that brings in enough money to let you focus on your interests on the side. But whichever road someone goes down, I think they need to balance the level of stress their job gives them, and make sure it doesn’t outweigh any benefits. We need to make sure we look after ourselves.”

Louis took a slightly shuddering breath. His throat was suddenly tight. “Okay,” he managed to get out.

“And— well. I’m not sure that the stress your job brings you outweighs the benefits, sweetheart. And I think that, maybe, if you were doing the right job, you wouldn’t have to ask me that question.”

Louis’ eyes began to grow hot. “But,” he fought to get his voice under control. “But it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, since...I dunno.” His throat worked as he swallowed with difficulty. “Doesn’t that, um, mean something?”

“Well, people change,” she told him, simply. “What we want when we’re little, or even as adults, doesn’t always turn out to be the right thing for us. Do you really want to live your life in the name of something you used to want?”

“But I...I still want it,” he confessed, hushed, and the words warped a little as his voice wobbled. “I just, um. Dunno if it’s maybe the best, for me.”

“Do you really want it?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, trying to clear the husk out of his throat. He wasn’t successful. “I picture it, and like...it’s still something I want. Like, who I want to be. I just dunno if I am that person, I guess.” It was horrible to have to say out loud.

“Maybe that’s something you just have to come to terms with,” Jo suggested. “It’s hard, but lots of things we have to do to be happy are. I think if this job wants you to be someone you’re just not...then it’s going to be very difficult for you to be happy doing it. I mean, do you think you’d be happy if you kept at it?”

_ One day a patient will die, and it will be your fault.  _

“I…” Louis struggled to get the words out. “Maybe not.” 

“Then I think you probably have your answer, love.”

 

***

 

Could he really just let go of the idea of himself as a paediatric cardiologist? Give up on the version of himself he’d been dreaming of for a decade and a half? Louis didn’t know. Sometimes, he felt as though all he knew anymore was the sheer force of his affection and desire for Harry. He could barely even remember why he’d wanted to do this job in the first place.

Dr. Edwards was due to make her decision any day. There had been no  _ specific  _ date, just ‘the end of January’, so really it could be any second now. Louis thought about quitting his job, and then hearing that Dr. Edwards had been about to pick him. He thought about staying, the rush of relief and validation that would come from being picked, from confirmation that Dr. Edwards, at least, didn’t think this job wasn’t right for him. He thought about staying, and Harry getting the job. The idea still hurt.

But then, Harry was right. He was already hurting. Louis didn’t know if he could really let this job go, not after years of wanting it, but he did know he didn’t have to let Harry go. And maybe it was worth giving them a shot.

The moment his thoughts reached that conclusion, Louis felt a rush of nervous excitement.  _ Giving them a shot.  _ If he actually did it — yeah, maybe it would end terribly, but before that he’d get to touch Harry again. To make him smile, far more potently than that longing little ghost of one he’d offered when trying to convince Louis to give them a try. Hell, just imagine how much he’d smile when Louis told him. He’d kiss him, too. The thought was dizzying with how much Louis wanted it.

And, he supposed, he didn’t have to only want it anymore. He could go get it.

 

***

 

Waiting for Harry to walk into that room the following morning was every kind of agony. It half felt sort of weird to do some big confession so early in the morning, but God knows Louis wouldn’t be able to get through the day without saying  _ something.  _ The adrenaline had him wide awake, anyway. He just had to pace the tiny room and hope that Harry would arrive soon, and that he would arrive before Dr. Edwards. He couldn’t believe he was really going to do this — take a chance on something as fragile as his relationship with Harry. For Christ’s sake, they’d hated each other’s guts seemingly the other day! And yet — it didn’t feel like anything but the right decision. Louis didn’t want to lose something that felt like it would make him happy (Harry’s words and starry expression ringing in his mind) for a job that made him anything but.

God, he needed Harry to walk through that door soon. If Louis could get the words out quick enough, maybe he’d be able to kiss and hold him, for a little bit, before they had to go to work. Maybe they’d entwine their fingers and feel their mouths stretch into unstoppable smiles as they held onto each other until the very last possible second, then going about their day with stupidly happy expressions. Louis looked around the empty room again, and  _ yearned.  _ He needed Harry to walk through that door so very badly. It had been such an awful week and he needed this, needed Harry, needed the door to open.

After what felt like years, the door opened.

“Harry,” his name came out a little breathless, and Louis felt a consequential flush of embarrassment. Harry looked up from where his head had been ducked to look at his phone, and paused. Louis took a second to marvel that until this second, until walking into this room, Harry had been living in a sad and mundane world where everything was grey. He’d had no idea that  _ (hopefully)  _ everything was about to change. Harry blinked in confusion. 

“Hey,” he said, uncertainly. His eyes scanned Louis’ face curiously, hesitantly.

“Harry, I. Um,” Louis rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, and offered a sheepish smile. He wasn’t really sure how to say this. “Hi.”

But Harry seemed to know immediately. He lowered his phone and took a cautious step forward, mouth opening a little as though to say something, and then swallowing and quickly closing it. Suddenly, there was a nervous energy radiating from him, a half-expectant wonder to the way he waited for Louis to continue, eyes never straying from Louis’. It was all kinds of intimidating, to be levelled with that much focus and intensity, but also Louis felt like he never wanted that attention to stray. He could stay here and soak up all that force, revel in the feeling of having Harry look at you like you were the only thing in the world, forever. 

Louis swallowed again. This was it. But how to articulate something so monumental? How to say this without trivialising it? Right here, in this moment, Louis felt like this was the most important moment to have ever happened to anybody. Like, it wasn’t, but —  _ God _ . It sure felt like something. 

Harry was still waiting. It seemed like he might be holding his breath. It didn’t matter how he said it, Louis decided. It was the two of them, not the words, that mattered. Louis opened his mouth, and felt it unwillingly begin to curl up at the edges into a half-stifled smile.

“Harry, um—” he began, and then the door opened again. 

“Morning, guys,” Dr. Edwards said, and Harry jumped and quickly moved to let her step into the room. Louis felt his excitement slowly droop. 

“Hey,” Harry greeted her, clearing his throat. He shot a glance at Louis, and then looked away.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” Dr. Edwards was saying, placing her pile of files down on the table. “We’ve got a bit of busy day...” 

Louis had missed his chance. Not forever, of course, but...to have to wait a whole shift seemed the cruelest thing in the world. Nothing to be done, though, but wait it out. Dr. Edwards was already talking, waving her arms in the air and assigning tasks. There was no way Louis would be able to talk to Harry before their shift now. 

So Louis went through with his shift. He offered Harry a disappointed grimace, and hoped that Harry had guessed enough to linger at the end of the day so they might talk again. Then he swallowed his hope and told himself to get on with his day. 

How to focus on work with a mind so focused on Harry? But as a doctor you can’t let yourself be distracted. Louis kept shaking himself and clearing his throat, as though able to dislodge the feelings and hope stuck in his throat. He had to read paperwork three, four times before he could conclusively take them in. Every few moments he would look at the clock and  _ wish  _ that it wasn’t so early, wish that he could close his eyes and have finished the shift. Each time:  _ surely it’s been longer than ten minutes? Surely it’s...oh.  _

Time crawled and snagged. Louis wished, waited, hoped. Called himself hopeless, ridiculous, tried to get it together, but always always came back to glancing at the clock, waiting. When, when, when would this shift end. When would his chance to talk to Harry present itself? How could the end of the day always be so far away?

And then, gradually, the balance shifted. Halfway through. Then only a few hours to go. Each time, Louis’ heart would jolt and flutter awfully. Three hours left, two hours left, so close he could taste the glory of it...one hour, half an hour, ten minutes...

“Louis.”   


It was Dr. Edwards, cornering him just as his heart was leaping with the end of his shift. He turned to blink at her, confused, some irrational part of him outraged that she would pick  _ right now, of all fucking times  _ to talk to him. He opened his mouth to make some excuse, to beg off, but then he got a proper look at her expression. There was a solemn look to her normally cheery face, and so Louis’ stomach fell away. 

“Everything alright, Dr. Edwards?” he asked, tentatively, dreading her answer. Surely this couldn’t be — surely there’d have been some kind of warning, surely, surely...

Dr. Edwards looked guilty. “I have to, um, talk to you and Harry for a bit, before you can go home. If that’s alright.”

Louis’ mouth was dry as a bone. “Um. Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, go ahead.”

She grimaced. “I told Harry to wait while I went and found you, so…”

Louis obligingly followed her through the hospital corridors, chest hollow, feet pressing into each step on the shining floors with no feeling whatsoever. Was this it? Could this actually be it? They reached the room where Harry was waiting, face nervous, and Louis forgot even about his previous excitement and his need to talk to Harry, choked by the unspoken tension and the horrible, horrible uncertainty of what was about to happen. 

He stopped next to Harry, swallowed, and turned back to look expectantly, full of dread, at Dr. Edwards. She looked up at him, and then at Harry, with guilt. 

“Look, I know this is sort of out of the blue,” she began, awkwardly. “It’s just — Jesus, this whole thing’s been handled craply. I feel like you should have been given a specific date to ready yourselves for, you know? But...I dunno. They told me this morning that I have to make the final decision today, so.” 

She shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable. Louis felt his heartbeat pick up, his palms sweaty. This was it — this was actually it. 

“And I’ve already, um. I have already made the decision,” she added, glancing unhappily between them. “Even though — well. If it was up to me I’d want to keep on both of you, you know that. It’s just not feasible.”

Despite everything he’d been telling himself, Louis wanted this job. He really did. He wanted to be the person this job tried to make him, and he couldn’t help but hope that maybe he’d succeed in turning into that person if only they continued to give him the opportunity. Dr. Edwards took a breath, and all Louis could think was  _ please, God, let it be me. _

“It’s — I’m sorry, Louis,” Dr. Edwards looked sick. “It’s Harry. I — I had to make a decision, and...and it’s Harry.”

Long, tinny seconds stretched by.  _ It’s Harry. I’m sorry, Louis. It’s Harry.  _

Louis…felt like the words should have seemed more like a slap. Instead, he felt rather as though there was a thick pane of glass in between him and Dr. Edwards, muffling the blow.  _ It’s Harry, it’s Harry.  _ Louis didn’t get the job. Louis didn’t make the cut. Louis would have to find a job somewhere else.

And so — there it was. He’d never been cut out for the job anyway. To try and claim that he wasn’t disappointed would be nothing but a lie, but he really had no choice except to tell himself that it was all for the best. He’d known, deep in his heart, that this was where it was all heading. 

This is a good thing, he told himself. He wished he could believe it more. 

It was just that it hurt, to look to his left and see Harry’s mouth twitch for a moment with the barest hint of a suppressed smile of relief. Louis couldn’t help it — he really couldn’t. He’d wanted this job, and on some level, to some part of him, Harry was still the guy who’d shown up out of nowhere and tried to take it away from him. Succeeded in taking it away from him. Louis felt his expression sink and twist, into disappointment and resentment, sadness, anger, loss. He wasn’t able to wrestle it under control quick enough — Harry looked over in the next second, any relief having melted into guilty concern, and flinched at what he saw in Louis’ eyes.

It was awful. Harry was turning away before Louis could do anything about it — he was hurt, yeah, but he didn’t want Harry to hurt either — so it was too late. Half-formed thoughts, painfully too late, showed himself swallowing it all down and offering a watery, but genuine, smile of congratulations to Harry. Maybe Harry would have returned it, maybe they’d have been able to move onto that conversation….hindsight’s a bitch. 

“Thank you, Dr. Edwards,” Harry was saying croakily, instead, voice far too pained for someone being granted a dream job. “I think I better, um, give you two some space.”

Dr. Edwards looked downright miserable as she nodded. Louis wasn’t able to suppress the second wave of bitterness — that she had any right to be sad when it was  _ Louis  _ who was being rejected — but he wished he was able to. Dr. Edwards turned the full force of her guilty, slightly watery blue eyes on him, and her mouth tightened a little bit, another tiny wince, at the sight of Louis’ expression. 

Dr. Edwards was his  _ friend.  _ She hadn’t had a choice, and she’d made the right call. Louis had no right to resent her. So he took a deep breath — in, out — and tried to let his disappointment and his anger go. He’d known this was coming, after all. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis told her, before she could begin apologising. His voice wasn’t as strong as he’d have liked, but it was something. “I get why you made that call.”

Dr. Edwards still looked wretched. “Lou, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to hire you both, so badly. And I wish it wasn’t me who had to decide. Or I wish you were anybody else, someone I didn’t like so much. I think you could be such a good doctor,  _ honestly,  _ you just — you just can’t get the feelings right like Harry can. And that makes you a wonderful, emotional person, but —”

“It just doesn’t make a great paediatrician,” Louis finished for her, dully. “I know, Dr. Edwards. I’ve sort of known that a while now.”

Dr. Edwards sniffed, and wiped surreptitiously at an eye. “I’m sorry,” she said again, unhappy. “I’m so sorry, Lou. Could I maybe give you a hug? I’d get it if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d—”

Louis was already pulling her into a hug before she could finish that stupid train of thought, huffing out a laugh into her hair. She sniffed again and then snorted into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tight around him and squeezing. Her perfume was a little intense in his nose, and the position was a little uncomfortable, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d sort of needed a hug, too. 

“You’ll still be my friend, right?” she asked into his shoulder, and then laughed slightly at herself. “I don’t mean to sound pathetic I just...you’d get to call me Perrie now I’m no longer your superior, and I  _ so _ don’t want to be the one responsible for breaking up the friendship group. No one’ll ever forgive me.”

“Don’t be daft,” Louis told her, fond. “Of course you’re not breaking up the friendship group. It’ll take a while to get used to calling you Perrie, but I’m definitely not running off to find a new bunch of friends. Okay?” 

“Okay,” she repeated, squeezing him again. “Good.” There was a pause. “But...God, Louis, I’m really sorry if I’ve ruined things between you and Harry.”

Louis’ heart did an embarrassing wobble at the thought. He took a moment to reply. “I...I don’t think you have,” he told the top of her head. 

She pulled back to look at his face. “Really?” her tone was ludicrously hopeful. “I thought — the look you exchanged, and like, the way you guys used to act…I thought I might have brought it all back.”

Louis swallowed, slightly uncomfortable. “For a second, maybe, but…no. I still, you know. And I think he does too.”

“Um,  _ obviously,”  _ Dr. Edwards (Perrie?) scoffed, giving him a little shake. “Of course he still does! But it didn’t look like he was aware you two were okay...so what the hell are you still doing here talking to me, you knobhead? Go tell him!”

Louis huffed out a laugh, and then shook his head. “What, now?”

“Yes, now!” Perrie insisted, dead serious, and then clapped her hands in prompt. Louis blinked.

“Right,” he agreed, running a hand through his fringe as Perrie glared expectantly at him. He shook himself again, getting to grips with the fact that the moment was suddenly upon him — time to actually talk to Harry. His face broke into a grin.

_ “Go!” _ Perrie barked again, and Louis jolted and sped out of the room, coming to his senses, calling a quick,  _ ‘thanks!’  _ behind his shoulder as he jogged off. He could hear her whooping. God: this was actually happening. Louis was actually going to tell Harry he wanted to try serious.

But onto the point: Shit, how long had he and Dr. — Perrie — been talking since Harry ducked out the room? Would Harry still be getting his stuff? Louis paused for a moment, running on the spot like an idiot, dawdling whether to head out of the hospital or down to the locker room. Hmm, best to check. He sprinted off down towards the lifts, and then changed his mind and took the steps, legs pumping like a madman and nearly careening into a nurse. 

“Sorry!” he chucked over his shoulder, not even stopping. Yeah, maybe he’d be able to catch Harry another time, but Louis needed to talk to him  _ now,  _ excitement thrumming through him. It would be nigh-on impossible to live with this decision and not share it with Harry for any longer. Louis wanted his goddamn happy ending, even if he didn’t get the job. 

His trainers squeaked on the floor as he made a sharp turn into the locker room, startling another doctor who was in the middle of folding his scrubs. Louis glanced desperately around, saw no sign of Harry, and then sped off again before it even occurred to him to acknowledge the presence of the other doctor, who was an acquaintance. Oops, but — more pressing matters.

By this point Louis’ legs were truly feeling the goddamn burn. He really needed to get out to more places that weren’t the hospital and the pub, Jesus. Rather than wheeze his way back up the stairs and then very possibly die at the top of them he was forced to stand and wait for the lift, heart pumping both with adrenaline from itching to find Harry, but also from sheer bloody exertion. Christ. Was romance really worth this? Yeah...kinda. 

The lift pinged and the doors opened onto the ground floor and Louis was back to running, glad there were relatively few people in the halls at this time of night. His thighs were complaining loudly at the effort, but he gave them no choice but to push through it. He jumped the three steps down to the automatic doors and then had to skid to a halt to let them sense him in time, impatient, literally growling in frustration at how slowly they opened. The moment he was able, Louis was out of the building, sprinting through the car park and onto the street. Here he paused, almost doubling up for breath, and glancing in both directions. He probably looked like a madman to the few patients who were smoking on the low wall behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Which direction had Harry gone in? 

Louis was struggling to remember where Harry’s house had been specifically in relation to the hospital, when he was reminded something awful by the sound of whirring bike mechanics behind him. Oh  _ shit,  _ Harry rode a fucking bike! There was no bloody way Louis would be able to catch up with him now! The realisation was nothing short of crushing. Was he supposed to try and sprint at the same speed as a bike? No, to make that work he would have to go even faster to try and make up for lost time. God, the very idea was impossible. Slowly, Louis felt his excitement fade for the third time that day. He turned to glance despondently at the mystery bike-holder that had made him realise this— 

Holy crap, it  _ was _ Harry. 

Harry, standing in plain clothes next to his bike and looking, a little sadly, guiltily, at Louis. For a long, ludicrous moment, Louis was so out of breath and so taken aback at seeing Harry behind him, having imagined him already cycling far away, that he could do nothing but stare back. Then Harry swallowed and glanced at the ground, and spoke.

“Louis, I’m sorry you—” he began, but Louis snapped out of his trance at the same moment.

“I don’t care,” he announced, abruptly. Harry broke off and stared at him.

“What?” 

“I mean — that’s sort of a lie. I mean, I  _ do  _ care, but...not enough to stop me caring about you. That was sort of hugely lame. Um...”

Harry’s eyes were very big and very green, and now a little hopeful. “What?” he asked again, this time breathless.

“I want to give us a shot,” Louis told him, beginning to smile already. “I tried to tell you this morning, but—”

Louis wasn’t able to finish his sentence, because Harry was kissing him. Harry’s hands were in his hair, then one on the back of his neck, and Harry’s mouth was on his. Holy shit —  _ finally.  _ Louis kissed back with everything he had, his hands settling on the side of Harry’s upper arms, his poor heart beating fast again after having just started to slow. God, it had been so long. So long since that drunken night, so awful to have suffered so much time without feeling the press of Harry’s body, the movement of his mouth. Louis could do nothing but sink into the kiss and feel his eyes burn with relief behind his eyelids.

It felt like a kiss for the centuries. It was interrupted by a loud, slightly frightening crashing noise.

“Jesus!” Harry yelped, as Louis jumped back to see the source of the noise: Harry’s bike lying, unbalanced, on the ground, its wheels spinning with the force of having fallen. One of the smokers sitting on the wall was laughing at them. 

“Oops,” Louis said, slightly breathless from the kiss. “Is it alright?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said without checking, starting to laugh. He reached for Louis again — not for a kiss, just to hold him, as though to assure himself it was real. (Louis wondered if he was literally glowing, or if he just felt that way. He hadn’t felt this happy in forever.)

“So,” Louis began, and then realised he had nothing to say. “Wow,” he settled on instead, laughing. 

“Wow indeed,” Harry agreed, beaming. “So you don’t...mind? About the job. You can stand it?”

“I can,” Louis told him, firmly. “I mean I’m not over the moon, or anything...but I know Dr. Edwards made the right decision, to be honest. And also I... really like you, you know? So...yeah.” He had to stop talking for a moment to let his grin take over his face at the sight of Harry’s huge fucking smile. 

“Yeah,” Harry repeated, slightly mocking, but his eyes were warm and his smile was fond. “Brilliant.”

“And I’m — I’m really sorry, Harry,” Louis continued, remembering everything he was supposed to be telling him, “about sneaking out after that night. Shit, I’m —  _ so  _ sorry. It was fucking crap of me, even if I do kind of stick by my misgivings.”

“I understand why you did what you did,” Harry told him, although his expression had dimmed a little. Louis leant forward to kiss him lightly on the mouth again to try and get that smile back, and also because he could. It worked. “I get it,” Harry continued around his smile. “I do wish you’d actually explained to me what was going through your head, though, rather than pretending you’d never felt anything.”

Louis offered an awkward grimace. “Yeah,” he drew the word out, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Communication, huh? She’s a slippery one. But,” he took a fortifying breath, and looked back at Harry, “it’s something I promise to work on. You know. For the sake of our, um, relationship.”

The two of them took a moment to grin at each other, and to marvel at how that sounded aloud. Then Harry swallowed, and rubbed a hand up and down Louis’ back as he broached another difficult subject.

“And,” he tried, clearing his throat. “And, can I ask what you...what you think you’re going to do, now? Are you going to apply to a different hospital?”

“Um, no,” Louis answered, slowly. “Or — well — maybe eventually. I actually, um. I really wanted that job, you know? But here’s the thing, I…I’m actually a little relieved I didn’t get it. Not right at first, I wasn’t, but...I’m over the initial wave of emotions and...I think I’m relieved. Because I know, for a fact, that I would have taken the job if Dr. Edwards had given it to me. And I know that if I had done, I’d have wound up even more fucked up than I already am.”

“You’re not fucked up!” Harry protested, immediately angry on his behalf, but Louis shushed him.

“You know what I mean,” he said, and then moved on before Harry could continue arguing the point. “And, you know, maybe being a paediatric cardiologist hasn’t gone all that well for me. Maybe I was never all that suited to it, after all. But I’ve been thinking about it. ‘Cause I was even thinking about throwing in the towel, there, dunno if I would have done it, but I was considering it... and — and I don’t have to give up medicine, do I? I think it might be…might be just kids. That are the problem.”

Louis paused to assess Harry’s expression. His righteous anger had faded, and now he was simply watching Louis with warm expectancy, maybe a little pride. Louis drew strength from it.

“So I think I’m going to look into another branch of medicine,” he explained. “One focusing on adults. I know it’s gonna take a while, and God knows it’s gonna be annoying, but it’s for the best. At the risk of sounding like a motivational facebook post, you only get one life, you know? And I’m not gonna put myself through a branch of medicine that upsets me like this just ‘cause I spent so long learning it.” Louis took a deep breath, and then huffed out into a grin. “So, there,” he concluded. “That’s, um. That’s the plan.”   


“The plan, huh?” Harry smiled, and his whole face was so fond and so earnest that Louis felt a bit dizzy from it. He laughed again.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Well, that, and dating you.”

Harry grinned so wide he damn-near split his face in two.

 

***

 

Date, they did. They went out for dinner and held hands. They came home exhausted from their respective commitments and collapsed into each other’s sleepy warmth. Days off were spent drowsily kissing and smiling, watching TV and throwing malted milk biscuits at the other for talking during important parts. Harry quizzed Louis on the new things he was learning, Louis made Harry keep him up to date with his cardiology patients, they met each other’s families, they — 

_ “Louis,” _ Daisy would make a face. “We know this bit.”

“Also, you two are gross,” Phoebe would add. “I think you and Harry are the lamest people alive.”   


On the opposite sofa, Felicity would glance up from her phone. “Oh, thank God,” she’d heave a sigh of relief. “Are you finally done?” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want, you can find me on [tumblr](http://thatsbyronic.tumblr.com/).


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